


Truce or date

by thejourneymaninn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Background Isabela/Merrill - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Dating, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Pining, Racism, Slow Burn, Smut, Unresolved Emotional Tension, background Male Hawke/Isabela - Freeform, bad Orlesian poetry, implied/referenced past rape/non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-26 16:54:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 130,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7582222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thejourneymaninn/pseuds/thejourneymaninn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being Champion comes with many social obligations – and Hawke has better things to do. But someone has to attend; so who better to send than Anders and Fenris? Left to themselves in a theatre filled with noisy nobles, with no one around to diffuse the tension, they are eventually forced to talk. They address some of what – and who – really stands between them and discover that spending time in each other’s company might not be the worst thing in the world after all. And that Anders may have read a few books too many on what a proper date entails…<br/>Of course, their tentative truce also means that Hawke will keep pairing them up for events he can’t be bothered with even more often now…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story will follow their path up until the end of Act 3 (and a little beyond); some tags may be added for later chapters. Smut ratings are also for later chapters - that’s going to take them a while because well, they’re idiots… Non-con references are rare and very light, but just to be safe…

“Do you ever wonder why we’re here?”

The mage’s babbling should not have caught him by surprise – when did the man ever manage to keep his mouth shut – yet when Anders’ voice suddenly piped up next to him, Fenris slightly jumped in his seat.

“Define here,” he replied, with what hopefully passed for irritation rather than embarrassment. Being caught off guard was bad enough. Being caught off guard in a room full of strangers, by someone who was continuously looking to rile him, was worse. He had to admit _why the fuck are we even here_ was a fine question indeed.

 _Here_ being Kirkwall’s fanciest playhouse. Compared to Tevinter extravagances, it was just a rat-hole with plush stapled over the mould. Still, there were soft carpets, colourful decorations, seats you could comfortably sink into, and people. So many people hustling about, chattering and shushing, waiting for the evening’s _entertainment_ to begin. Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. Well, everyone except for Fenris – and the annoyingly fidgety mage beside him.

“Well…in a narrower sense, here, in this stuffy cesspool of ignorance and idleness, but yes, more broadly speaking… somehow wherever Hawke wants us to be, when he wants us to be. Apparently even _how_ he wants us to be considering this is practically a date” Anders scoffed.

Ah yes, Hawke. Indeed the reason for their predicament. For most of their predicaments, really. He remembered the conversation that had led to the present one well enough. “You know how it is, all you have to do is defeat one little gigantic leader of an enormous invading army and poof, you’re champion and suddenly every single noble is the stinking doglord’s best friend. There is no end to these invitations, and if I don’t take a break _now_ , there is a good chance I will burn down what little the Qunari left standing. And as Varric has informed me, leaving these seats empty would be a terrible affront, and where’s the fun in terribly affronting when you’re not even there to see all the poor affronted affrontees? Yes, I am aware that’s not a word, but you get my point, do you? No, Varric refuses to go, something about merchants’ guild and third row seats not being dwarf-friendly. I need Isabella to stay with me for…reasons; I’m sure she will gladly elaborate. You know Aveline and Donnic are away on their honeymoon, and not even I detest this city’s nobility enough to force them to spend an entire evening with Ser Blessed-crotch-pious-pants. Or maybe it’s the other way around, and I don’t detest our precious prince enough to expose him to an evening with _them_ ; the verdict isn’t in yet…You cannot seriously be suggesting Merrill, Fenris, she still hardly finds her way through Lowtown - she’d get lost before reaching the front row. So, that leaves you and Anders. Just think of it this way, an elf and an apostate walk into a fancy Hightown playhouse for the most anticipated premiere of the season…wherever that joke goes, I’m sure it will be worth it. Now, don’t give me that look! Not only are you both available, you also make a good team – no need for the eyebrows of doom, a good _fighting_ team. Should there be trouble, and it’s Kirkwall, when isn’t there trouble, a mage and a warrior will be perfectly equipped to fend it off, even without a weapon – yeah, those are prohibited in there. Not that such a _fine_ warrior as yourself couldn’t take on the city’s combined criminal forces all by himself, but you know me - I have a fragile, vulnerable heart. You wouldn't make me worry for your safety, would you, because…”

At that point, Fenris had mostly stopped paying attention, already resigned to his fate. Sure, he had growled and scowled at various points in their rather one-sided conversation, and sure, he would keep doing so for a bit longer, but he had to face it, a smile, a few bad jokes, and the most obvious wink imaginable were enough to win him over. Had always been and would always be. Hawke was as charming as he was relentless, and he was the only friend Fenris had ever known, which generally meant that he could not refuse him anything. That might have worried him, were it not for the fact that Hawke just as reliably complied whenever Fenris asked _him_ for help. The scales might not be even when it came to frequency, but you could hardly blame the man for the fact that Fenris usually did not ask for anything. Did not really know _how_ to ask for anything.

Then again, the few times Fenris _had_ asked, Hawke had only had to add a few more numbers to his body count, not put on itchy clothing and spend a whole evening sitting next to a possessed mage with a penchant for lecturing. Maybe the scales were tipped somewhat more in Hawke’s favour than he had thought. And since he had spent years trying to unlearn exactly this kind of behaviour, Fenris sometimes _did_ wonder. Sure, he owed Hawke, but that didn’t mean he had to agree” to _every_ stupid new venture the man came up with – of which there were plenty. Mabari-sized spiders, ancient elven spit-monsters, mines built on the bones of slaves and populated by dragons - Hawke wasn’t exactly easily deterred, “I’m not cleaning this up” usually his only complaint before diving headfirst into the next idiocy (who did clean up after them, Fenris wondered briefly. Whoever it was, they might actually be more deserving of the title _Champion_ than Hawke). A sense of adventure combined with an ego that dwarfed an ogre and the ever-present desire to help people…that mixture certainly didn’t make for quiet times. There was no reason for Fenris to always say yes, Hawke had several other allies at his disposal, yet he never said no.

Neither did Anders, regardless of how much he muttered about his patients needing him and not having time to bother with this. But then again, not even Aveline ever did. Hawke could convince the captain of the guard, steady in her convictions and never shy to speak her mind, to aid in smuggling for the Coterie - getting two men who maybe-not-quite-hated-but-most-certainly-immensely-disliked one another to attend a play together seemed rather unremarkable in comparison.

So he shrugged, “I assume we all do, more often than not. But in case you forgot, we followed him to be roasted by a High Dragon just last week. This place seems hardly worth complaining about.”

Anders shook his head in mock-pondering, “Well, I’m not so sure about that. I’d say the present company is far more _lethal_ than a High Dragon.”

Ah, of course, there it was again. Lethal. Rip out _one_ sodding heart and that’s all anyone ever thinks you do. Alright, maybe more than one, but it wasn’t like he had turned it into a popular party trick. Even in battle, he preferred to rely on his sword. Yes, Hawke occasionally counted on this specific ability of his when it came to questioning people. The actual killing, however, was usually done afterwards, through more…conventional means. For all Hawke enjoyed helping people, he seemed to enjoy making them practically explode on his twin blades just as much. They were _all_ lethal. Anders himself showed just as much enthusiasm for decimating their opponents as for healing whatever damage his allies sustained, yet he never passed up on an opportunity for reminding the elf that he been created to be a living weapon, and Fenris was starting to feel both tired and irritated. Normally, he would simply try to ignore the mage, but now they were alone, with no one around to diffuse the tension.

“I am glad to hear I have moved up from wild dog to High Dragon in your esteem. Yet unlike others, _I_ am actually in control of my “fisting abilities”, so you are quite safe. Unless you don’t shut your mouth, that is.”

Anders snorted “I was referring to the nobles. Trust me, they’ll roast you worse than any dragon ever could. But nice to know your mind went straight to fisting; that sure keeps the date atmosphere intact.”

That...he had admittedly not considered. Fenris let his gaze wander over the people surrounding them. They seemed like the usual Hightown crowd that gave the usual Hightown stares. As an elf covered in lyrium, he was more than used to them, especially since he had chosen to reside in the part of town that humans deemed off-limits to his kind- except when it came to serving their food and cleaning up their messes of course.

It was no different here. He might be the only elf in the actual audience, but most of the staff hurrying around, unthanked and unnoticed, were elves. The timid girl who sold the bite-sized food the mage had stubbornly insisted on (“We're on Hawke’s tab so let him at least metaphorically pay for this”), the woman who guarded the guest’s coats (Fenris grinned at the memory of Anders’s mortification at having to part with his), the greying man who had led them to the “Champion’s seats”, all of them had been elves, and all of them had hidden their surprise at him being there as a _guest_ rather poorly.

“The Champion’s Seats” were in no way distinguishable from the other seats, but they were in the front of the rather large hall, only two more rows between them and the stage, and admittedly rather comfortable, deep, plush, and broad enough for the both of them to fit into one – not that he ever would have wished to share. Still, with all the strange people around them, he couldn’t help shifting towards Ander’s side in his seat. He might be unpleasant company, but at least he was familiar. The mage seemed to feel the same way. Leaning as far towards Fenris’ seat as he possibly could, he looked even more awkward than Fenris felt. Though what he had to fear the elf had no idea - this was hardly Templar territory. Not to mention that the mage was human and, in the clothes Hawke had lend him, actually blended in rather well for once. Maybe the unfamiliar garments were simply uncomfortable.

For his part, Fenris certainly cursed the fact that he had let Hawke talk him out of his armour and into this itchy and strangely lose-fitting combination of black trousers and charcoal tunic, topped by an emerald sash at his waist. He had drawn the line at shoes, which Hawke seemed to have anticipated, as the trousers were long enough that they covered most of his feet, leaving only his toes peeking out. These clothes were most definitely not Hawke’s; the man was a good head taller and almost twice his width, but then again, Fenris suspected the ones Anders wore had also been bought specifically for him, regardless of Hawke’s claims to the contrary. They just fit _too_ well. Anders simply didn’t have Hawke’s massive bulk and would probably have looked more akin to a child at naptime than the dapper noble he could have passed for now were he wearing anything that actually belonged to Hawke…Venhedis, if they had been send here just to give Hawke’s bleeding heart an excuse to gift them these ridiculous outfits…! Or well, his ridiculous outfit. Anders admittedly wore his rather well, whereas Fenris looked utterly ridiculous – and felt vulnerable without his armour. It had taken him years to even just bring himself to sleep without it; amidst all these people, he acutely felt the lack of its protection. Not to mention the lack of his sword. Judging by the way Anders kept fidgeting, he probably felt just as naked without his staff.

Fenris sighed, “I am rather conspicuous here”.

“ _We_ are sitting in the Champions seats – by whatever means these people can tell that they are meant for Hawke, I assure you at least all the front-row dwellers know. Trust me, we are both conspicuous.”

“At least _you_ look the part. So long as you don’t open that mouth of yours, people might actually be fooled into believing you belong here.”

“You’re just as dolled up as I am. And much more colourful! All I got was black; you fit in much better with this fancy crowd than I do,” Anders shot back.

“None of that is going to change the shape of my ears, mage.”

Anders muttered, “Well, and as you said, all it takes is for me to open my mouth, and they’ll know I’m nothing but a dirt poor Ferelden refugee.”

Just like the mage to completely miss the point. Fenris sometimes wondered if he was just being an arse, or if he truly could not tell the difference. It wasn’t worth a fight - the evening was bad enough as it was - so he settled for, “I would not worry about that. Long before they get close enough to hear you, your smell will have revealed that you are a sewer-dwelling rat…or cat, as I assume you prefer.”

“At least you got the pet right,” Anders smiled wistfully, probably thinking of the kittens Merrill had mentioned recently. Mages and cats, there didn’t seem to be much else going on in there. Well, and resentment, of course

“Hey, wait a minute, are you saying I need a bath?” the mage asked, a hint of actual concern in his voice.

“You are always in need of a bath, mage, and it would never be of much use. You literally live in dirt.” It wasn’t actually that bad, more of a strong, distinctive scent than a bad smell, but well, he did live in dirt.

“Alright, sorry if my existence offends your tender senses. We can’t all live in fancy stolen void-holes,” Anders huffed. He seemed genuinely offended, so much so that Fenris took pity on him.

“I would not go so far as to call it offensive. Hawke’s dog smells far worse. The dwarf’s breath after a night of what the Hanged Man tries to pass for ale is also more difficult to stomach. And it ensures I never have to look for you in battle. I can always smell where you are.”

Anders seemed at least somewhat appeased. “Saved by the smell, I see. Well, let’s just hope it inspires these lovely people to keep their distance. I’m certainly not looking forward to the mingling and conversation part.”

“Mingling and conversation?” Fenris tensed at the words, this did not bode well at all.

“During intermission?” Anders supplied, “You know, when they serve overprized drinks and everyone scurries to the restrooms to put on even more ghastly face-paint and then comes back to make the rounds and be all blasé about how unremarkable everything is. They were fawning all over Hawke at the last party, informing him of every detail of the last Orlesian production they had seen the night before - a much more sophisticated take on the theme, mind you Champion – which he had – oh what a shame, always so busy Champion- missed. It was brutal. Varric looked like he was ready to knock himself unconscious, and I seriously contemplated using Winter’s grasp on myself just so my brain would freeze and I wouldn’t have to listen any longer. And that was _before_ they began relaying every single rumour about every single Hightown resident who was or wasn’t present. Aveline told me it was just as bad at the playhouses. Apparently, Marchers simply can’t stay in their seats for too long.”

Fenris felt himself flinch. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the sort of mingling Anders had described – as bodyguard to a powerful magister, he had witnessed this treacherous dance of boredom and reconnaissance countless times, but it hadn’t occurred to him that it would be expected of them tonight. After all, this was not a party, and Hawke was not with them. How could conversing with his low-life associates be of any benefit to these people?

“Do you really believe they will seek us out? What interest could they possibly have in us?”

The mage sighed, “If we’re lucky, none. But when have we ever been lucky? They might gather we are a good source to get the dirt on Hawke; they might be curious to find out why we are here in his place, what our connection to him is exactly…”

Fenris cut in, “We have been following him through every crevice of this city for years now, most of the time in broad daylight. I would say the nature of our connection is fairly obvious.”

That earned him a chuckle. “Ah well, you know their kind, with all the stuff they do behind closed doors, they just can’t help wondering what might be going on behind _other_ doors.”

“Running through town covered in the blood of people trying to kill us is hardly ‘behind closed doors’-behaviour’,” he snorted back.

Anders shrugged “Maybe not, but all those blood-stained clothes have to come off at some point. And it’s not like they don’t know about the elf living in Hightown, in close proximity to the Champion, close friend of the Champion…They are probably dying to know just _how_ close…”

As nonchalant as Anders’ tone had been, Fenris highly suspected that the nobles around them weren’t the only ones _dying_ to find out. He tried to keep his voice even and his irritation at bay. “Then it would seem all these _attentive_ nobles have somehow missed the fact that the Champion regularly enjoys the company of a certain pirate, both in the streets and behind closed doors. Given that the woman in question is anything but discreet, I find it hard to believe that would escape notice. I believe that answers all their supposed questions concerning my _status_.”

Anders merely raised an eyebrow. “Does it? It’s not like it’s uncommon for men of influence to have one or more things on the side…” Fenris was about to interject, the insinuation too infuriating to let slide, but Anders quickly continued “…and even if they knew that you aren’t the type for sharing or cheating…Dirt doesn’t need to be fresh to be useful. And that there’s nothing going on now, doesn’t mean there never was.”

There was a long pause, Fenris determined not to say anything and Anders seemingly debating with himself whether to continue. The mage’s annoying personal curiosity aside, Fenris couldn’t deny that he had a point. “The Champions secret little elven lover boy” did indeed sound like something these people would love to whet their teeth on. It also sounded painfully much like – no. Not here, not now, he would not think about this now. The thought that people might really whisper these kinds of things about him – about Hawke - made him nauseous enough. As far as he could tell, there had been no indication of such rumours so far, but as Hawke’s popularity grew, such filth was indeed not unlikely. He could only hope that Isabela’s brazen personality was enough to keep their cavernous mind occupied.

He did not want to think about that. And he certainly did not want to talk about it, so he just closed his eyes and enjoyed the rare luxury of Anders shutting up for more than a minute. Of course the luxury didn’t last, as the mage’s internal debate was decided in favour of continuing. Given the subject, rather bravely so; Fenris had to give him that.

“So you and Hawke have never…I was certain you would…sooner or later…” Anders trailed off, and if his fake indifference had been fairly obvious before, it was glaringly so now.

There had been a time when Fenris had been equally certain about it – well, as certain as he could be about anything, which admittedly wasn’t very much, but still…all the time Hawke had spent with him, freely, because he really seemed to enjoy his company – even said he did. The way he looked at him, there was a warmth beyond his ubiquitous flirtations, and it didn’t abate after Fenris expressed need to “consider it” first. Hawke merely joked that “the day was still young” when Fenris asked about possible competition. And apparently, it aged rather quickly – soon after, the pirate dropped anchor in Hawke’s bed. It stung. Had then and still did, sometimes, more than three years later, but Fenris never found it in him to blame Hawke for it. The man was loyal, his affection a solid rock once you had earned it - Fenris had no doubt that Hawke would not hesitate to give his life for any of his friends. Yet his more superficial attentions were flimsy, easily swayed when the right gust of wind came along. And knowing Isabela, it wasn’t hard to imagine who had pushed for that ship to sail. Leaving him behind.

“No.”

He could not bring himself to elaborate further, found it hard to even allow that much information. Anders had teased him often enough, a snide remark for even the smallest flirtation that Hawke threw his way – “I can’t imagine what he sees in you” – and a smug grin for every smile or touch directed at Anders’ himself. Fenris was no fool, he was well aware that the mage’s affection for Hawke went easily as deep as his own, and the itching desire to let him believe that he – the “wild dog”, the “living weapon”, the _slave_ –had had more of Hawke than Anders was hard to ignore. But Fenris was not cruel, no, not needlessly so. He was certainly not above teasing and probing the mage right back, and he refused to let his dangerous views go unchallenged, but he would not hurt him in such a way. He knew the sting all too well.

“Ah, well, I’m glad to hear it, wouldn’t want him to catch fleas or rabies…those can be a _nightmare_ to treat, you know.” The mage’s tone was a lot friendlier than the harsh words suggested. Perhaps Fenris had inadvertently shown more of what was going on inside him than he had intended to and for once, Anders had chosen not to be a complete dick about things, albeit in his own unique way (he did have a certain obnoxious charm to him, Fenris could admit that much). Or maybe he was just happy to learn that Fenris hadn’t touched Hawke any more than he had. Whatever the reason, Fenris saw no need to reply, filling his mouth with food instead. How much longer until this thing started anyway? Had Hawke given them the wrong time?

“You know, I was kind of surprised you seemed to go for him anyway: I would have pegged you for the type who likes petite, high-strung women who cling to your spiky shoulders for a broody rescue and the promptly faint, allowing you to just brood on a little more in silence,” Anders continued brightly, blatantly ignoring Fenris ignoring him.

Was he that type? His likes had never been up for debate, his partners not of his choosing. All that mattered had been his master’s desires, and they had guided his every move. And then he had been on the run, surviving, hiding, too busy looking over his shoulder to ponder what he would enjoy laying his eyes upon. But he had been settled in Kirkwall for years. His master was dead; his desires were his own, and yet he had never really thought about the actual nature of said desires. What did he like?

He might have fallen for Hawke’s friendship, his support, but he had noticed the man’s smile before they even exchanged their first words, found himself staring at Hawke’s arms, flashes of _strong, inviting, firm_ flitting through his head even before Hawke first called him handsome, leaving him standing there blushing furiously, embarrassed and elated. Yes, Hawke was what he liked, and that included his looks. But he was certainly not all he liked. He also noticed Isabela’s lustrous skin, the beckoning curve of her hips swaying in front of him when they walked through the city, the way her blouse just barely contained her breasts when she leaned across the table…Sometimes he even noticed the mage’s lanky form, as appealing when he held himself upright with stubborn pride as when he slumped with exhaustion. He noticed, and he enjoyed. Although this particular like was best not lingered upon…Then again, why should the mage be the only one to mock and tease?

“Fainting and silence do indeed sound enticing. Yet when the latter clearly isn’t an option, there is something to be said for loudly obsessing over what might please me as well,” he grinned. Or well, smirked, there were limits after all.

“Was…was that a joke _and_ a flirtation?” The mage seemed honestly delighted.

“According to you, this passes for a date. I am known for living up to my duties. And according to Hawke, an apostate and an elf were a punchline waiting to happen, so…”

“Maker, please, don’t tell me he used that exact same line on you. Does that man have no shame at all?” Anders interrupted with a groan.

“If that truly surprises you, it is no wonder you are unable to guess my preferences.”

Anders actually giggled at that, and Fenris was surprised to find how much it relaxed him.

“Ah Fenris, stop, you know I cannot resist an awful jokester - why do you think I fell for Hawke so quickly? So if you don’t get your brood back on quickly we might actually enjoy ourselves tonight.” Anders paused for a moment, then continued, with a grin that practically split his face in two, “Although…if we ended up _really_ enjoying ourselves tonight, the joke might at least be on Hawke, for once.”

That was…too much, for sure. Too honest, too ludicrous, too suggestive. And the outrage he felt was decidedly too little. He and the mage…even in obvious jest, that insinuation should have enraged him, but as it turned out he felt way more amusement – delight even – at the thought of Hawke’s face at his two more devoted admirers finally heeding his advice to _get along already_ …in a way that did not require _him_. The man wasn’t mean-spirited, yet it was obvious that he enjoyed their adoration. Maybe he wouldn’t if he ever actually realized that what stroked his ego stabbed their hearts, but his own being so volatile, he just couldn’t see. Or maybe he just tried very hard not to see, a danger to his little family of friends that could not be fought best ignored.

Yes, Hawke’s imagined reaction was a balm; he could admit that freely. That the mage being apparently not entirely opposed to the notion of _them_ had a similar effect was not quite as easy to admit. There was no doubt that the mage was joking, but the lack of venom in his voice, the slight blush in his cheeks…he might not actually want Fenris, but he also didn’t seem to consider the concept of wanting him to be entirely absurd and that felt…strangely good. And it conjured up utterly unwanted images, bringing the tension back into Fenris’ body, teeth worrying his bottom lip before he even realized.

“Ah, dang, here we go again; I’ve already ruined the mood, haven’t I?” Anders joked, glancing at him.

“I…am merely surprised you actually admit to falling for Hawke. Aren’t snide remarks and mooning more to your usual taste?” Murky grounds to tread on, for sure, yet safer by far than the ground they had just opened.

Anders seemed to simultaneously puff up and shrink in on himself. “Well, it’s not as if this is some big news. I’m sure everybody’s had their fair share of d _elightful_ fun with this topic already. And you’re one to talk, the puppy-eyes you throw at him whenever he so much as breathes your way could probably melt even the Arishok’s heart. Might have saved Hawke a lot of running and stabbing if you had just brought those on, you know.”

“There are no puppy eyes.”

“You wish,” the mage snorted.

“I am _not_ as obvious as you are.” It sounded a lot more defensive than he would have liked.

“Maybe you’re right. That permanent scowl that seems to be all but etched into your face does indeed provide better cover. Still, doesn’t mean your eyes don’t betray you. And it certainly didn’t keep everybody from noticing.”

The mage’s mocking tone stung. As did his words – and their implications.

“Everybody…?”

“Really, that’s surprising? They’re not exactly subtle with their teasing. Let’s face it, they’ve probably got bets going when we’re going to punch each other over him.” Anders seemed to be pondering something and fell silent for a while. Eventually, he continued, “Do you think they’re right?”

“Must you go on about this? Have we not both already admitted to it?” Fenris wanted to yell, but settled for an exasperated hiss.

“Not that part…the part about fighting over him.”

“That would be a foolish battle, given that we have both already lost.”

“Right, I forgot, love and jealousy never go together with foolishness, my mistake. I’m serious. Is that why we’re really arguing? I mean, it’s obviously not how it started, but maybe it’s why it became so much worse. And more…personal.”

“You are the one who makes it personal, mage.” It was true. Anders’ attacks against him tended to me much more vicious, clearly more than irritation at someone who didn’t agree with him. Fenris often felt like he could actually taste the boiling hatred behind them. He might be wary of the mage, but at least he tried to treat him with a modicum of decency. A kindness Anders rarely showed him. Unfortunately, that didn’t make the rest of Ander’s argument any less compelling. “But there may be some truth to what you are saying.”

The mage, chewing on his lips somewhat absentmindedly, said, “So, even with all your bigoted, hypocritical support of the Templars, the real reason we are ready to tear each other apart is…a _guy_?”

“It would appear so. Not that your foolish quest to bring about another Imperium doesn’t make you annoying enough on its own.”

“That is _not_ what I’m trying to do.”

Of course he would jump right on that; Fenris should have known better. But he was not going to back down now either. “Your intentions won’t matter when mages rules again, enslaving everyone in their way, heedlessly killing for power.”

“Yes, of course, _that’s_ what we’re going to do – first order of business: gain freedom, invite a jolly bunch of demons over for tea, and concoct evil plans to destroy the world we’ve only just been allowed to walk in freely again. _Of course_ we’re going to force others into what we had to suffer, because none of us have any capacity for empathy or caring…You and your blind, impenetrable hatred of mages, you bloody hypocrite!” The mage was becoming more and more agitated, while also, almost comically, trying to keep his voice down. This was indeed not exactly a conversation to be had in public.

“Being aware of a very real danger is not hatred, mage.”

“Exactly, _mage_. That is all I am to you; that is all we are, a _danger_. As if it took magic to kill and lust for power. You don’t even care that we’re people, you heartless – I can’t imagine what Hawke sees in you…” He trailed off, staring at nothing for a moment. “ _Hawke_ …Maker, we’re pathetic.” His agitation seemed to have evaporated, replaced by a soft chuckle. One that Fenris could not help but join in on.

“For once, we agree on something.”

Anders nodded and sank back into his seat. He remained quiet for a long time, long enough to make Fenris wonder if he had actually managed to shut him up for good. And wonder if that was what he wanted. He needn’t have bothered.

“So, where does that leave us? Are we doomed to just fight over him like rabid dogs for the rest of our miserable lives?”

“He is not the only reason why we are fighting.”

“No…but he seems to be a large part of why we’re so petty about it. And it seems we’re just stuck with it.”

“Neither of us will ever have him. We should accept it, and move on.”

“What a great plan. Tell me, have you stopped longing yet, now that you’ve so resolutely decided on your feelings?”

It was definitely not just Hawke. The man was insufferable.

“Unless you have a better idea, I suggest you shut up,” Fenris gritted out.

“Not really, no,” Anders admitted with a sigh, “but maybe acknowledging it could be a start. We’ve already admitted to it anyway, no need to tiptoe around it anymore.”

“You…want us to do what, discuss our feelings for him? With each other?”

“Well, it’s not like we’ve got anyone else to do it with – at least no one who won’t mock us for it or hasn’t got a bet going. And I’m not suggesting we team up to write sombre songs of love in his name. But we could be…more honest about it? Maybe there would be less need for...cruelty then.”

“Are you accusing me of cruelty, or admitting to it on your part?”

Anders responded with an exaggerated sigh, “Can’t we settle for both? I _am_ trying here.”

Fenris had to admit, he really seemed to be, as unlike him as it was. He was willing to try as well, but not unless…”Does trying also include not pestering me about your _plight_ every five minutes? You have made your points; you will not convince me any more by repeating them.”

Anders made to protest, but Fenris held up a hand to stop him. And Anders stopped, which was the most convincing sign that he was, in fact, trying one could have imagined. “If you were thinking of arguing that you ‘are the cause of mages’, you might want to ask yourself how _that_ is supposed to ever make me see you as ‘more than just a mage’.”

Anders seemed to actually consider this for moment. Finally, he said, “You…have a fair point. And I will try. But my situation is not quite the same as for most mages.”

“I am aware. It certainly does not mean you have to try _less_.”

“I know.” It was almost a whisper. “What I meant to say was…don’t judge them based on me. Please.”

Fenris could not remember the mage ever having looked so small. He nodded. “I won’t. Your brand of annoying knows no comparison.” After a brief pause, he continued, “Yet not all aspects of that judgement would be…condemnable.”

It was all he could offer him. Anders fought for his friends. He seemed to genuinely care for the poor and healed them without asking for coin. So far, he used his magic to heal – to kill, too, but that was for Hawke, and they were all guilty of that, be it through fist, sword, or magic. It did not make him any less dangerous, or any less unbearable, but it could still be acknowledged.

There was a faint sound that might have been a whispered “Thank you”, but Fenris could not be sure. They settled in silence once again. Fenris couldn’t think of anything more to say. However, he was fairly certain there would be no need to.

He was right.

“So, the injustice of the Circle and flaming serenades to Hawke are both off the table…you don’t happen to be interested in cats, by any chance?”

“I’ve heard they go well with red wine.”

“They are the most intelligent, independent creatures the Maker has gifted us with. How could you possibly…? You’re not starving; there’s no need…”

“It was a joke, mage.”

“R…right. I keep forgetting you make those. Just…not about that, please? It hurts enough to notice them disappearing almost the minute they show up in Darktown, time and time again, as it is.”

“Do the refugees really eat them?” “I’ve tried my best never to find an answer to that question. But they’re desperate and starving so…”

“…so there is your answer.”

“Yes.”

After another moment of silence, Anders said, “So, now cats are off the table too. I must say, you’re not exactly giving me much to work with here.”

“Why do you care about them so much?” It was an honest question.

“That…can’t really be answered without talking about my time in the Circle. Which would touch on topics we have agreed not to bring up.”

“I would still like to hear it.”

“Really?” Anders sounded genuinely surprised. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“You do not know much about me, mage.”

Anders nodded slowly. “You’re right. We’ve known each other for years, yet we don’t _know_ each other at all. Or maybe we do, in a way, but…we don’t know our stories…our pasts. These were pretty much reserved for Hawke, weren’t they?”

They had indeed been. Hawke was the only one he had ever gone into any details with. The only one he trusted with the knowledge. Some of the others knew bits and pieces, but certainly not Anders. Fenris wasn’t sure if he wanted him to know anything even now….and the mage still hadn’t begun to tell his story either.

“It appears you wish for it remain that way,” he stated. If the mage didn’t want to talk, so be it. It wasn’t like he desperately wanted him to. He had merely been curious.

“Not necessarily, no, but maybe we could start a little smaller? This story is painful to remember, and it’s woven into stories that hurt even more. I’m not unwilling to talk about it on principle, just not right away. And not in the midst of these…scarecrows.”

Anders sounded sincere. Fenris understood his reluctance, in fact, he probably understood it better than most people. Probably even better than Hawke, but he assumed that was best not commented on. And the mage was right, their surroundings were less than ideal.

“Another time then. When we are not surrounded by people dressed to repel anyone with any degree of taste.”

Anders chuckled, “Anyone with eyes, really. Maybe they should just dress all mages like this; it would probably keep the demons away – I’m pretty sure even they have _some_ standards.”

Fenris found himself chuckling along, “You have not seen Tevinter fashion. Trust me when I say, it would not work.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Taste has abandoned the Imperium ages ago. These people are tame in comparison. Still, there is something to be said for your reasoning. If you want to test your theory, that ‘hat’ over there might be a good start.”

“Well, that would certainly repel demons – probably not only them, though. Everyone would flee screaming while I’m still at the far side of the room.”

“That is also true. But I would not worry about that – I doubt you could fit through doors wearing that thing.”

“Yeah, you’re right; I doubt I could. Worst thing is, he probably spent more on that monstrosity than a miner makes in a year. I mean, look at it, that’s just obscene.”

“Are you jealous that you are not the most offending abomination in the room for once?” The thing was indeed hideous.

“Ah, stop, you’re making me blush,” Anders giggled.

“At least that would show on you. He might just as well be three urchins in a coat with a giant apple for a head.”

The mage threw him a wide grin, “Maker, you’re on a roll. Mercilessly poking fun at our wealthy oppressors…seems like we’ve found a topic that doesn’t make us want to tear each other apart.”

“By… tearing apart others?” Fenris frowned.

“Hey, you have to start somewhere,” Anders shrugged, “and don’t pretend you’re not having fun.”

“I am too busy wondering which of these fawning ladies will drop unconscious at the popular woman’s feet first to have fun,” Fenris replied, voice as flat as possible.

“You mean the one in the dress that couldn’t scream ‘Look at me’ any louder if it was actually written on it?”

“You will need to be more specific.”

It was as good a way to pass the time as any.


	2. Chapter 2

“Wouldn’t it be more appropriate for your…company to use the servants’ restrooms?”

Anders did not even seem to realize they were talking to him. It took another “Serrah?” to elicit a startled “What?”

“I’ll assume the Champion had his reasons for passing his invitation on to you, Serrah, but to bring…that along. Here, of all places. It’s one thing to have a toy for the bedroom, but you don’t take it out to flaunt at respectable company.”

The mage just stared at her confusion, obviously truly clueless as to what she was talking about, or why the surrounding people nodded in between applying more layers of paint to their ghastly faces. “A toy…?”

“That would be me,” Fenris said through gritted teeth. He did not want to make a scene, for Hawke’s sake. Which was a foolish thought; Hawke would have been the first to punch the “dignified” frowns right off their faces – had in fact done exactly that, once – but Fenris could not help himself. “I will go elsewhere.”

Anders continued to simply stare.

“That would be advisable. The servants’ facilities are down the hall,” a man busy combatting the greasy shine on his face supplied. Fenris turned to leave, ears prickling with shame, when the mage suddenly grabbed him.

“Like Blight you are.” Turning to the others, his tone several shades haughtier than usual (an impressive feat, really), Anders declared, “He is not a servant. He is the Champion’s guest as much as I am.”

“I know the Champion keeps some…questionable company. It is excusable, given his line of work, but I doubt he would be of such poor judgement as to invite a knife-ear to something so far beyond their understanding.”

“Well, you stand corrected. The Champion gave his seats to _him_ ; _he_ brought along his _toy_. I doubt the Champion would appreciate you accosting his friend. But he certainly _would_ appreciate you giving us some privacy – so unless you intend to _watch_ us, I suggest you leave. Now.”

Fenris wondered briefly if Anders had any idea what he had just implied – and what a dangerous suggestion that really was. It seemed to have worked, however. There were several “whispered” insults and a fair amount of tutting, but eventually the hideous group dispersed, leaving them alone in the room, their reflections thrown back at them by myriads of mirrors. Anders had suggested they use the intermission to relieve themselves – with the added bonus of evading the nobles. Fenris wondered if the mage regretted this idea as much as he did.

After several minutes of both of them staring at their feet, Anders finally broke the silence.

“Is it…always like that?”

“What did you think it was like? You have been to the alienage often enough,” Fenris yelled at him, shame coursing through every part of him.

“I…yes. I just didn’t think…I mean, a lot of my patients are elves, several of them married to humans. No one ever seemed to care.”

Fenris forced himself to lower his voice at least a little. “There is less bothering to frown upon it among people who are already frowned upon by everyone else. Still, it can be found there just as easily. Which you would know if you ever took the trouble to look.”

He prepared himself for an attack, but all Anders said was, “It’s not like I avoid looking on purpose. But you may have a point. I am a little…limited in my attention.”

The ensuing silence was uncomfortable, enough so to make Fenris try to break it. “Your behaviour was…unexpected.”

“So was theirs,” Anders huffed, “at least for me.” He kept his eyes on the floor as he continued, “A part of me wanted to let them chase you out though.”

“They mentioned Hawke.”

“Yes,” the mage agreed with a soft smile. “Still, I’m sorry. That part was larger than I’d like.”

“It did not win,” Fenris stated. Yet he could not help adding, “I can fight my own battles.”

Anders rolled his eyes at him, so exaggeratedly that his head seemed to follow their movements. “I am perfectly aware. But it certainly didn’t look like you were actually _going to_.”

“There was no point in making a scene.”

“ _They_ were already doing that; you were right in the middle of it.”

“Making it worse did not accomplish anything,” Fenris insisted. He didn’t care for the way Anders was looking at him.

“Just keeping your head down definitely won’t help change things.”

“Maybe not. But it helps with surviving. You should try it some time.”

“Surviving is not always enough, Fenris.”

He could not disagree with that. He could not agree with it either. All too often, surviving was all that was left. He knew that. The mage was a fool if he did not.

Silence began to stretch again, until Anders sighed, “Let’s just do what we came here for, and afterwards I’ll buy you more snacks to cheer you up.”

“Don’t you mean _Hawke_ will buy them?”

“No, he’s merely going to pay for them. I will do the buying and choosing, _and_ I'll even carry them. All to keep my date happy and smiling. Well, not all that much smiling perhaps, we’re talking about you here. After all, I deserve some treats for my heroic defense of the unjustly harassed,” he finished with a grand flourish of his hands.

Fenris huffed (although the idea of more food did indeed sound appealing), “Do you have any idea what your ‘defense’ implied?”

“That we were going to go at it like dogs in heat the moment the door closed behind them?” the mage replied with a broad grin.

“You _meant_ to suggest that?” Fenris was stunned. Was the mage truly insane now?

“We’ve already discussed their filthy imaginations,” Anders shrugged, “Since there was no way to convince these vultures otherwise, the least I could do was make sure they can’t hold on to their delusion that the thought is in any way shameful to me.”

“It is not?”

“Of course not! Well, given our history and the way we tend to treat each other, I suppose it could be, but that has nothing to do with you being an elf – you know that, right?”

“I…do now.”

“You don't sound convinced.”

“It is simply not the experience I have had.”

“With ‘mages’ I assume,“ Anders paused. “Or just with me?”

“With humans.” Fenris couldn’t fight a faint smile. Of course. Everything had to be about _him_. “You may not enslave us here, but we are considered less all the same. We do the work you consider beneath you. We are forced out of your neighbourhoods. Our voices are not heard in court – it means nothing to kill one of us. And yes, yes, I am aware not _all_ humans are like that. But your world is, and we have to live in it. So even if some of you might mean well, it is still difficult to trust.”

“You do when it comes to Hawke.” There was no mistaking the bitterness in his voice.

“That, too, did not come naturally. Or easily, for that matter. He had to earn it…amongst other things, he bought me food,” he finished with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood a little. The mage _had_ stood up for him tonight, even if it had been mainly for Hawke’s sake.

Anders returned the smile, although it did not quite reach his eyes. “Finish up then, there’s going to be a line.”

 

 

There had indeed been a line, but they had managed to choose their food – or rather, Anders had, but Fenris didn’t mind; he still had trouble deciding from so many options when he used to have none – and get back to their seats before the second half of the show started. This time,"bite-sized" was a gross exaggeration. Each of the tiny pieces (“Grains puffed up through heat,” Anders had explained. ”I’ve heard they’re delicious.”) was barely larger than the tip of Fenris’ thumb. There were, however, enough of them to fill a huge bowl. Fenris had observed that two smaller, separate ones would be more practical, but Anders had vehemently protested, stating that this was proper dating etiquette.

Once they had settled back into their seats, Anders placed the bowl between them. “See? You put it in the middle so you can both reach it. It’s supposed to be romantic…you know, sharing your meal, fingers accidentally touching, feeding each other, all that stuff.”

“I am not feeding you, mage.”

“Aah, too bad…afraid I’ll bite?”

“The thought has occurred me.” After a moment’s pause, Fenris continued. “You seem to have a lot of experience with…dating.”

“Well, experience is saying too much. You don’t get to ‘date’ in the Circle; you’re not _allowed_ to. Hence, there isn’t much wooing. Even when you have feelings for someone, every encounter tends to be straight to the point - Templars everywhere and all…And on the run, it isn’t much different. So, no, no personal experience. But I’ve read the stories. At least Circle libraries are well stocked. Mostly magical theory, sure, but some items also serve…other interests.”

“I see.” It wasn’t what Fenris really wanted to say, but “you complain about your _plight_ while you had a safe place and an education” would have violated their agreement. Plus, he did not want the mage to know how much he still struggled with reading. “Yet you have lived outside the Circle for years now. You could have had dates in Kirkwall.”

“Well, I guess I don’t have to tell you who I’d have wanted to take on a date here. And I also don’t have to tell you just how successful I was in that, so…no. I’m afraid that part of me might be over for good; so let me at least enjoy our fake-date. Even if you refuse to feed me.”

“As you wish.”

While feeding the mage was indeed a matter of “over my dead body”, Fenris had no objections when it came to feeding himself. The mage had been right - it was delicious. He had also not been entirely wrong about the hand-brushing. That felt odd. And….shivery. It was confusing. He did not want to think about it. Therefore, delicious as it was, he stopped eating and focussed on the performance.

That was not confusing. Just terrible. _“Magic and Mandibles. A tragic tale of love, pride, and duty.”_ Well, that was one way to put it. The first half had relayed the story of a mage, living undiscovered by the Templars, mainly because his friend, an upright young man of noble birth, used his wealth to protect him. What the young nobleman didn’t know, however, was that the apostate had the ability to shapeshift into a man-spider-hybrid and to command spiders of all shapes and sizes to do his bidding. In his hubris, the mage started to use his powers to fight crime and interfere with matters of the city guard. In his pride and vanity, he considered himself heroic, even as the foolish, unsanctioned use of his abilities was endangering the whole town. The main reason for his vigilante actions being – a girl. A girl with a constantly quivering bottom lip, only surpassed by her constantly heaving bosom, always positioned at just _this_ angle…her back had to be killing her after two hours of this. The apostate wanted to impress her and despite knowing better, she fell for him, lulled by a false sense of safety when he rescued her from bandits. Storming the cave they held her in with his spider-allies, he did indeed look imposing. The first half of the play had ended with a passionate kiss, the spider-mage’s face obscured in the darkness of the cave.

Neither of them had been impressed with the story so far. As Anders put it, “Who would go for spiders when they could just as easily have an army of cats?” The second half managed to impress Fenris even less, and he found himself repeatedly reaching for the food to distract himself, despite his previous resolution to avoid any more hand-brushing incidents – of which there were thus several more. Yet unlike during intermission, Anders didn’t waggle his eyebrows at him when it happened, too busy glaring at the stage. Even his chewing seemed aggressive. Fenris wasn’t sure if he preferred it this way, or if he felt strangely left alone with the tingly sensations.

On stage, the apostate’s identity had just been dramatically revealed, and now followed the equally dramatic reveal that the foolish young maiden was in fact already betrothed to…the apostate’s noble friend. Even at this disloyalty, the noblest of nobles still hesitated to turn his friend in to the Templars. For, as it turned out in another shocking revelation, his own father was in fact a powerful (and so obviously evil) apostate himself, and the son’s misplaced sense of loyalty and love clouded his judgement. After several more (minutes? hours?) of the young nobleman imploringly wringing his hands towards the heavens, the arachmage’s eyes darting across the room in a frenzy, madness painted all over his face, the girl’s bosom heaving at a perfect angle and the nobleman’s father…being obviously evil, the young nobleman finally discovered that his friend had secretly been his father’s apprentice.

But alas, it was too late. The father’s experiments unleashed demons upon the whole town. (Looking at the weird parade up there, Fenris was fairly certain no one in the costume department had ever actually seen a demon.) The Templars fought bravely to restore order, but countless lives were lost – possessed by what he had summoned, the abomination that had once been the nobleman’s father killed everyone that crossed his path before he was finally slain. The young apostate escaped. Abhorred by his master’s experiments, he vowed to never again use his magic. But the noble young man had seen where the lure of power would inevitably lead – he did the only right and noble thing and finally turned his friend in to the Templars, who mercifully set the mage’s mind at peace by gifting him with Tranquillity. The nobleman then promised the better part of his family’s fortune to the Chantry to atone for his father’s crimes and married the heaving-bosom girl, who tearfully regretted having ever considered the dashing but dangerous apostate. They lived happily, and more importantly, they had learned their lesson – when their firstborn child showed signs of magic, they immediately handed it over to the Templars. The Maker rewarded their faith and sense of duty with many more children, all of them free of the curse running in their bloodline.

By that point, Anders looked like he was about to retch, and Fenris could not even fault him for it. As much as he might agree with the general message (apart from “the Chantry delivers us from all evil and deserves all our coin” perhaps), the lack of subtlety was disturbing. Then again, in the Tevinter version, the spider-mage would probably have been the hero, crushed a slave-rebellion with the help of an army of spider-demons, become a powerful magister, married the girl and finally sired a litter of perfectly bred mage children, fed and pampered by a household of willing, smiling slaves…Maybe playhouses and subtlety just generally didn’t go together.

When the actors finally left the stage, everyone in the audience was clapping their hands enthusiastically. Anders didn’t join in. Neither did Fenris.

“No applause from you? I would have thought this would be exactly to your liking,” the mage cocked his head at him.

“Once again, you were wrong. This was sorely lacking in talent. And…taste.”

Anders’ morose expression was briefly softened by a smile. He seemed about to say something, but shook his head and looked at the crowd instead. They sat in silence, finishing what was left of the food. The bowl was almost empty when Fenris noticed some of the nobles glancing at them.

“We should get going,” Anders said nodding in their direction, “I’ve had my share of bad acting for the day.”

“Let us move on then.”

They left the bowl on their seats – some underpaid elf would have to collect it later, Fenris assumed, theirs, and many others. His evening might be almost over, the servants’ work was likely only just really beginning. Retrieving the mage’s coat proved more time-consuming, but since they had reached the entrance hall before the main bulk, the line was still relatively short. There were yet more glances directed their way, but luckily, no one approached them for conversation.

Anders grinned, “Complain about your ears all you like, at least they seem to deter potential ‘minglers’.”

So much for “lesson learned.” Fenris did not deign to comment on that, merely shot him a dirty look.

The mage’s grin immediately faltered. “I’m sorry, that sounded…I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I am more than familiar with the fact that you generally do not know when to keep your mouth shut,” Fenris waved him off.

“Let me guess, according to you that ‘should’ be…always?”

“That would be safer for you. And less irritating for those around you,” Fenris agreed. Yet thinking back on their evening – and the fact that the mage had just _apologized_ – he felt compelled to add, “Admittedly, it might also be less entertaining.”

Anders beamed – there was no other way to describe the ridiculous expression on his face – and, ironically enough, stayed silent.

 

 

The air had noticeably cooled when they stepped outside, and Fenris found himself shivering a little. Although the fancy clothes Hawke had chosen covered more skin, they were so much thinner than his usual armour that the wind seemed to blow right through them. Trying to keep his teeth from chattering, Fenris muttered, “These garments are useless. Why Hawke chose them, I will never understand.”

Anders shrugged, “The colours bring out your eyes.”

“My…eyes?”

“Yes. That sash has the same colour and the charcoal is a nice contrast. It goes really well with your skin tone and draws attention to your eyes…makes them even more stunning. Like I said, Hawke actually put care into _your_ outfit,” Anders finished with a little pout.

“I…he did with yours, as well.” That much was true. When it came to his own clothes, the mage’s statement still had him startled.

“Yes, all black, I wonder how long it took to come up with that.”

“A deep black that makes your hair look golden. And with a tight fit that highlights your legs…of which you have a lot.” The very short shirt also framed his arse rather nicely, but maybe that was better not mentioned. After all, the mage had only commented on his eyes (his…stunning eyes?).

“A lot of legs…Are you calling me a…spider-mage?” Anders raised a mocking eyebrow at him.

“I was referring to their length, and you know it.”

“Is that a…good thing?”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “I mentioned it as a positive aspect of your outfit, so yes.”

“Well, they did compare me to a stork when I was younger.”

“I assume that was before you discovered food – and before you start another inane line of questioning, no, I did not call you fat. Everything is where it should be, and you wear your clothes well. Whereas _I_ am freezing, so I suggest we move on.”

He turned around and started walking but didn’t make it far before something was placed over his shoulders. Something heavy – and warm. Anders’ coat.

“My clothes are thicker; I can do without it for tonight. We don’t want you freezing solid. I’m not all that fond of the idea of having to carry an elf-shaped block of ice all the way through Hightown,” the mage said.

“That is unnecessary, I…”

“Please, Fenris,” Anders put a hand on his shoulder, “it is proper etiquette. When your date is freezing, you give them your coat. And we’ve pretty much followed all other rules so far - we even exchanged compliments, and I’ll be honest, you beat me at that. Just accept the gesture and shut up for once.”

It was the friendliest “shut up” Fenris had ever received from the mage, so he complied. The coat _was_ warm.

They didn’t talk much after that, but the silence did not feel uncomfortable. When the stairway Anders would have to take to get back to Darktown came into view, the mage said, “Alright, time to part ways. Keep the coat, you can return it the next time Hawke drags us into unnecessary danger.”

“So, tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that’s about it. I’d better get going.”

Fenris considered just letting him go. They weren’t far from his mansion, and he was tired. Yet neither of them had brought their weapon, and while Fenris had both lyrium and skill to defend himself with, years as bodyguard to one had taught him that mages were considerably weaker without a staff. He didn’t like the thought of Anders walking through all of Low- and Darktown unarmed...partly because he feared he would be defenceless, partly because he feared he would _not_ be. He had seen the demon take over, and he was not particularly keen on leaving Anders at its “protection”.

He fell in step beside the mage. At Anders’ questioning look, he shrugged, “I assume etiquette also demands not letting your date walk through a whole city in only half their clothes and without a weapon.”

“You’re…walking me home?”

“Unless you object, yes.”

“It is indeed a key part of a proper date, so I most certainly don’t.” The mage was quiet for a moment, then softly added, “Thank you.”

Fenris nodded, but didn’t deem it necessary to say more. He could protect himself, the mage could not. It was only right to ensure no harm came to him.

By the time they reached Lowtown, the mage was his usual chatty self again. Fenris did not mind, at least the talking kept him awake. And some of the mage’s observations about the night’s crowd and performance were in fact quite funny. As were his own, apparently, if Anders’ frequent giggles were anything to go by. They were debating whether there could possibly be more horrendous choices in actors than they had seen tonight when Anders’ clinic came into view.

“Looks like this dispute won’t be settled tonight. Well, maybe we’ll get our answer at the next event,” Anders concluded his argument.

“The next event?”

The mage grinned, “Let’s face it, we’re both still alive, and we aggravated a whole room full of Hightown residents. In Hawke’s world, that’s a flaming success. He’s definitely going to pair us up for future events now.”

“I can think of worse fates,” Fenris shrugged.

“Can you now?”

“Well, you were right – the food was good.”

Anders shook his head with a chuckle. They had reached the clinic’s doors.

“So, you’ve successfully walked me home.”

“Indeed. I will be on my way then.”

“What, no goodnight-kiss?” The mage fluttered his eyelashes at him, head cocked and face split by a grin.

“Keep this up, and I’ll give you a goodnight kick,” Fenris growled, but it held no heat.

“Alas, not proper etiquette, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Fenris was at a loss for a moment, then decided to just go along with it. His bare feet wouldn’t actually hurt the mage if he kept his movements light. He leaned past Anders and opened his door for him, then quickly grabbed his shoulders, spun him around and aimed one of his feet right at the centre of the mage’s nicely framed rear. With a carefully calculated push of his leg, he shoved him just hard enough that he stumbled a few steps into his clinic, but not hard enough to make him fall.

“Goodnight, mage.”

“And they say chivalry is dead…” The mage turned around. “Good night, elf. Do you want me to return the favour?”

“No need. I am in a generous mood tonight.”

“I can tell.”

With a final nod, Fenris turned and started to make his way back to Hightown


	3. Chapter 3

“Thank you for letting me use it.”

The coat in his outstretched hand, waiting for the mage to finish shelving supplies, Fenris felt increasingly awkward. What he had intended to be an upright posture was beginning to feel stiff, the neutral expression his face was supposed to be wearing was gradually taken over by flitting…and his words weren't supposed to sound so forced.

Formal and distant - not unusual for his dealings with the mage yet, he assumed, not quite appropriate when returning an item of clothing that had been offered to you out of kindness, more so when said item was obviously cherished - worn every day, largely threadbare - and had its owner’s scent lingering in every inch of cloth. He did not know how else to go about it, however. How to recreate the unusual…lightness that had been present between them the night before.

Had Hawke not been there with them, Fenris might have tried some joking question about the proper dating etiquette for returning soft, blanket-sized clothes whose familiar scent was a comfort on a long and lonely hike home (which out loud might have been translated to “sewer-scented feather-rugs so heavy they kept you awake”), but he didn't want to give Hawke the satisfaction of learning that their evening had been a lot more enjoyable than expected. It would only encourage him to skip more events and send them instead…And Fenris wasn’t entirely sure he wanted a repetition. Before last night, if someone had told him he would once have fun watching a truly terrible performance with _Anders_ , he would have laughed in their face – well, at least internally. Turns out the joke would have been on him. He _had_ enjoyed himself. Still, there had also been undeniable tension. Their “truce” and, oddly enough, talking had helped, but that did in no way guarantee that the next time would go equally smoothly. It was in fact much more likely that the mage would soon return to his petulant self - his strange fixation on “dating experiences” could only sustain his willingness to compromise for so long. Especially since they weren’t actually _dating_ ; the mere thought was ridiculous. And yet it had been fun. Smiling was a much better look on the mage’s face than snarling.

Anders was still busy shelving, precariously balancing potions, and Fenris felt more and more exposed holding the coat out to him like an idiot statue. Finally, the mage finished, dusted off his hands and took the garment from him with a lopsided grin.

“Thanks for the swift return…but I see, as you predicted, you were dragged down here anyway. By our ever-busy leader.” He turned to Hawke with a little bow and put on his coat while asking, “How can I be of assistance, my Champion?”

“There’s trouble at the Wounded Coast…Why did Fenris have your coat?”

“I have been carrying the thing all the way from Hightown and you only notice it now?” Fenris asked with a frown.

“I did notice you were carrying _something_ ; I just didn’t realize the ragged bundle was Anders’ notorious coat – of which, still, I wonder why you had it…”

“He had it because you, dear Hawke, went for sexy instead of practical when you chose Fenris’ clothes. Easy on the eyes doesn’t do you much good when you’re freezing to death. Fortunately, I jumped in to prevent such a tragedy. Some of us still know the meaning of chivalrous, you see.”

“You were freezing? Maker, Anders is right; I should have thought of that.”

The concern in Hawke’s voice was making Fenris feel warm and uncomfortable at the same time. “The mage’s coat offered sufficient protection. You needn’t concern yourself. I will return the clothes you provided later."

Hawke waved him off, “No need. They look so good on you, it would be a waste to return them to me…If I’m not mistaken, ‘sexy’ was the word of choice.”

So, indeed yet another not-so-subtle gift. Normally, Fenris would have insisted on returning them, but well…they brought out his eyes. Not his skill, like his usual armour. Maybe he should keep this one outfit.

Meanwhile, Hawke continued, “And you’ll need them again soon enough. Same goes for you Anders; don’t bother returning them.”

Anders shrugged, “Wasn’t gonna.”

“That’s my mage,” Hawke grinned. ”Anyway, going by the number of times I have been pulled aside by concerned residents on my way to Fenris today, you two made quite the impression last night. I have been sufficiently warned about the kind of company I keep – company that behaves entirely inappropriately! Elves who don’t use the servant’s restrooms! Who sit with the general audience! And my foulmouthed human associates share their food with their elven ‘company’, openly holding hands without shame!”

“We did not!” Fenris protested, cheeks reddening at the memory of the tingling sensation.

“Well, I kind of figured…pity, really. I suppose that means you also didn’t fuck in the restrooms?”

“No, we did that in the entrance hall – was that not the kind of show you had in mind? I’m so sorry,” Anders replied, face unmoving.

It earned him a chuckle, “Well, as it turns out the mere fact that you were both there _together_ produced enough outrage already…so we can safely assume everybody knows the seats weren’t left empty. And looking at the two of you, there are no missing limbs or organs _and_ no hypothermia – seems you got along well enough. I’m proud of you. It’s good to know I can count on you to fill in for me.”

“Did we agree to that? Funny, I can’t remember agreeing to that…Can you, Fenris?” Anders raised his eyebrows at him, though Fenris thought he caught a small wink before.

“I cannot.”

As usual, both sarcasm and stoicism bounced off Hawke’s cheerfulness. “Ah, we’ll figure that out when it comes to it. The next grand event on the agenda is a party Isabela actually wants to attend; so we’ll all go together, the whole gang having fun.”

Anders made to protest but Fenris was faster. “I have no desire to go, and if you already have company, there is no need for either of us to join you…Unless the mage wants to.”

“The mage does not. In fact, the mage is busy. He has a clinic full of people who have less to eat in a whole month than what will be thrown away in leftovers after this ‘grand event’."

“Then I suggest we steal the leftovers and distribute them here afterwards…That’s a _just_ thing to do, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Don’t,” Anders groaned, but Hawke continued, grin never faltering.

“Grouse all you want; there is no way I’ll miss the chance to show up there with my ‘rude commoner associate and his elven _partner_ ’ – Maker, can they spit that word. I’m not going to give them that satisfaction, and I am above neither force nor begging.”

Anders looked as exasperated as Fenris felt…and was clearly preparing for a tirade. Resistance was futile; they both knew it, but Anders just didn’t have it in him to let things slide. Ever. Except he had, last night…

Fenris let out a pointedly deep sigh and when Anders looked over at him, said, “Do you ever wonder why we’re here?”

Their fits of giggling were only spurred on by the puzzled look on Hawke’s face.


	4. Chapter 4

Isabela was having fun; that much was obvious. Hawke seemed to be enjoying himself as well, watching her charm and shame the room in rapid succession, too quickly for most of Hightown’s lovely residents to catch on. Fenris strongly assumed that “scam” was also somewhere on her list of activities. He was admittedly not sure how, but there had to be a reason for her dressing up in clothes that could almost pass for those of a Hightown resident – one given to overheating and thus preferring less fabric than most, but still – and conversing with people whose presence she’d normally only acknowledge when it came in the form of a corpse she could loot. When he had suggested as much to her, she had tsk’ed him off, shaking her head and laughing, “Nonsense! I just like to dance!”

The questionable truthfulness of that statement aside, there was indeed a lot of dancing. Or at least something broadly resembling it – for someone who handled two weapons with effortless grace, Hawke had surprisingly little rhythm and posture. The witch and Sebastian were noticeably more coordinated, even as he was still guiding her through the steps of her “very first human dance experience, this is so exciting”.

The mage was sitting a little off to the side, hardly bothering to feign interest in whatever the dwarf and Aveline were talking about. And bothering even less when other guests started to make conversation. Which was usually during the times Hawke took a break from crashing into things and joined them. Or when Sebastian did. Apparently, the heir of Starkhaven was of interest too…just as the fact that he dared publicly dance with a Dalish elf seemed to be.

Sebastian appeared unfazed by the murmurs; Hawke was delighted. He knew how much it had meant to his mother, so he played the nobility game – but he made sure to insert his own terms into it, and bent the rest of the rules as far and as regularly as possible.

“What can I say, not a big fan of thinking people should look up to you because of things like title, coin, or the bloody size of your ears. And even less of a fan of looking down on them for circumstances of birth. Or do you think any of these ‘friends of our family’ would have accepted Bethany? She wanted this as much as mother, but they would never have let her have it,” Hawke had shrugged the one time Aveline had dared inquire why he was so “obsessively intent” on aggravating his new peers.

“I see your point, Hawke. But you could do more good, bring about more change for the less fortunate if you played along once in a while. Don’t let your pride get in the way of things.”

“The last thing our beloved Hightown residents want is _change_ , Aveline. And every single one of us does more for the ‘less fortunate’ in a single day than most of them do their whole lives. But don’t worry, I’m still wearing my fake smile during it all, just as custom demands, Captain!” Hawke’s mock salute had ended the conversation, if not Aveline’s muttering under her breath.

Hawke was indeed keeping his very-sincere smile perfectly in place while he was taking over Merrill’s dance lesson now. What exactly _he_ hoped to teach her, Fenris was not sure. Isabela was nowhere to be seen. A perfect coincidence, certainly.

Fenris was watching all of this from a distance. He had retired to one of the balconies when the dancing started – he did not know the steps any more than the witch did and unlike her, he had no desire to learn them. Nor did he have any desire for more of the “cultured conversation” around him – or for guests mistaking him for a servant. He was not particularly enjoying himself, and starting to wish he had stuck to his initial refusal to go. For this, Hawke truly did not need him; there were no seats to fill and the pirate and the witch did a well enough job of scandalizing people (although only one of them seemed aware of it).

The hours right after their arrival _had_ been fun, however - mostly thanks to Anders, if he was quite honest. The mage had a knack for spotting every single noble that had been in the restrooms with them - of course, none of them would have dared miss this _important_ event – long before they noticed them, and he made sure to use that talent to cosy up to Fenris or flash him lascivious looks as soon as they got closer. Sometimes he covered his mouth while giggling exaggeratedly, and when the woman who had referred to Fenris as a toy came into view, Anders’ fingers languidly wiped non-existing food stains off Fenris' cheek while his other hand came to rest on his knee, which startled Fenris a little at first. There was also more of the odd tingling but that wasn't entirely...bad. And the mage apologized as soon as she was out of earshot – “Sorry, I shouldn’t have pawed you without warning. I just couldn’t resist…I mean, look at her face!”

It was childish and petty and completely beneath them - and Fenris loved every minute of it. The look on the nobles’ faces would have been rewarding enough; the way they swallowed whatever they had been about to say as soon as they saw Hawke sitting next to them was priceless. Hawke seemed to agree, in any case he never tired of presenting them, “May I introduce you to my two very good friends? You have already met them? Well, it’s hardly surprising, these two are just inseparable…” – Aveline had snorted at that without fail every single time – “and always out and about together; you are certainly going to see more of them this season. I am just _delighted_ to hear they are making new friends.” His smile looked absolutely sincere during it all and Fenris had to fight not to snort along with Aveline more often than not. Anders sometimes failed to keep his composure, but covered it up believably enough by making soft kissing noises at Fenris and calling him all kinds of ridiculous pet names.

Being the centre of attention felt a little odd, but still, it had been fun. There were only so many nobles they could be “introduced” to, however, and the tedious conversations that followed made Fenris head hurt just listening to them. At some point, he simply had to sneak off, for his own sanity as much as for the continued residence of several hearts in several chests.

The balcony he had chosen to flee to overlooked a small Hightown square, not one of the gardens, and he alternated between observing the actions in the hall and simply letting his gaze wander across the empty streets and the stars above him. The night air was pleasantly cool, and the noise from the gathering seemed strangely far away.

Footsteps were slowly approaching his peaceful bubble. Fenris felt a small smile, unannounced and unexpected, tug at his lips. Their sound was familiar.

“Fancy meeting you here,” the mage said, his back coming to rest against the balustrade next to Fenris.

Fenris replied with a nod and a hint of “Hmmm.” He did not mind Anders’ company, yet he did not feel quite ready to work his way through more “conversation”. The evening had exhausted him.

“I thought you could use a drink after that parade of the worst people in Thedas in there,” Anders held up his hands, a bottle of wine in each. When Fenris raised his eyebrows at him, he added, “I liberated these from the kitchen.”

“ _You_ liberated them?” Fenris asked with a frown, “Stealth and subtlety are not what comes to mind when thinking of you.”

The mage grinned. “ _Thinking of me_ , hmm? And in case you forgot, I grew up in the Circle, constantly being watched, and I still managed quite an impressive amount of escapes _and_ fumbles. I’m not as useless as you all think…but well, Circle talk should probably remain of the table, so…Anyway, I got us some wine. It’s Agreggio Pavali. I remember Hawke mentioning something about that in regards to you. I hope I got it right and it was ‘likes’, not ‘loathes’…But, I suppose it’ll help you unwind either way.”

“’Likes’ is correct,” Fenris nodded, wondering when his wine preferences might possibly have come up in conversation.

Anders offered him one of the two already-opened bottles. “Well, good, then I didn’t inconvenience the staff for no reason.”

“Inconvenience?” Once again, Fenris felt himself frown at the mage, whose face was now split in two by a wide grin.

“I may have set some of the food on fire – small, controlled fires, but very distracting nonetheless…Ah, don’t give me that look, as if Hawke wasn’t doing this kind of thing every other day. Why is _that_ more acceptable, just because he doesn’t use magic?”

“Are you trying to provoke me, mage?” Fenris asked. He wasn’t really angry though. Yet.

Anders faltered, looking right through him for a moment. “I…might be, actually. Force of habit, sorry! But…I was thoughtful enough to bring alcohol…That counts for something, right?” His grin was somewhere between sheepish and hopeful (which was oddly...endearing).

“I shall let that one time slide, then,” Fenris nodded, took the bottle Anders was still holding out to him, and helped himself to a hearty swig. It wasn’t the first drink of the night, but it was by far the best one. Gulping down the costly wine Danarius used to have him meticulously pour into equally costly glasses – a lash for every drop he spilled – for only his most honoured guests straight from the bottle came with a satisfaction none of the fancy drinks he had been served tonight could compete with. Even if he had not liked the taste, he would have enjoyed it merely for the fact that he had never been meant to taste it.

The mage still had his back to the railing, so Fenris turned around to join him in watching the crowd. There was nothing of interest whatsoever. Even the witch had taken a break from dancing and was sitting alongside Hawke now, all of their friends engaging in what was certainly most enlightening conversation with the surrounding guests. Fenris took another sip from the bottle, glad that he wasn’t inside with them anymore.

“Aren’t you going to drink that?” He indicated the second bottle, which still hung loosely in Anders’ grip.

“Justice doesn’t like it when I drink. They’re both for you.”

Fenris swallowed the snide remark that flared up inside him at the mention of the mage’s demon. This hadn’t been another provocation. Anders had simply stated a fact, had been honest, even though he had to know Fenris wasn’t going to like what he heard. And he _did_ know; his tense posture was ample prove of that. Attacking him for it would violate their fragile truce. Therefore, the elf settled for a half-hearted joke instead.

“Two bottles for me? Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“I would never do that. I’ll have you know, I’m a perfect gentleman. And this is only our second date,” the mage replied with an exaggerated expression of shock, lifting a hand to his heart.

Fenris suppressed a sigh. It had been a long night, and he felt like all his energy had been sapped from him. Playfulness was hard to come by in his present state. He covered up his silence by taking another large swig of wine.

Anders was still looking at him, a small smile playing around his lips. “You’re wearing the same clothes.”

“It was either these or my armour. And I was told they bring out my eyes.”

“That they do. Strikingly so.” Anders smile had widened. “I’m certainly not complaining – though you _could_ have made a little effort to surprise me, as far as dating etiquette goes.”

“We came here with six other people. This is even less of a ‘date’ than the last time.” This was just like the mage, claiming not to be complaining while _complaining_. And “surprise him” how exactly? He knew what Fenris looked like. Different clothes were hardly going to change much…Admittedly, Anders’ outfit did accentuate his height and shoulders quite nicely...

“I can think of several nobles who would strongly disagree…But point taken. Let’s just settle for half a date than. Guess the full second one will have to be the dramatic reading Hawke plans to send us to next week,” the mage interrupted his thoughts.

“Dramatic reading?”

“Yes. Think playhouse, only with less room, less people and just a couple of guys droning on…at least that’s how Hawke explained it to me. ‘Risqué Orlesian Poetry’ seems to be the night’s theme of choice.”

“Of course it is.” Of course it was.

“Well, after we caused such a scandal last time – by merely sitting in our seats cause we’re just that good – he’s probably hoping we’ll get so worked up we start making out in the front row.”

“I’m afraid he will be disappointed.”

“Yeah, I don’t really see you responding passionately to anything Orlesian either,” Anders chuckled.

“Why doesn’t he take Isabela? Seems like this would be right to her tastes.”

“Jealous?” The mage was still smiling, but there was an edge underneath, sharp enough to cut Fenris straight to the bone if he let it. A part of him wanted to punch right into the centre of that smug challenge. _We could be more honest about it_ ….He _had_ agreed to try.

“No more than you are,” he replied, as evenly as he could manage. Would the mage honour their agreement as well?

“That’s still a lot,” Anders nodded, sharpness making way for sadness.

“It is,” Fenris agreed before helping himself to yet another swig of wine. “Are you sure you do not want any? Seems like you could use it too.”

He was rewarded with a smile – neither sharp nor sad, just soft – and a firm headshake. “Thanks, but even without Justice’s objections…Instead of managing to drown my sorrows, I’d probably just water them. Then I’ll start wallowing, and trust me, you don’t want to hear my ‘lover’s lament’.”

“I do indeed not.”

“I thought so. You have enough lament of your own after all.”

“Unlike you, _I_ am capable of suffering in silence.”

Anders regarded him for a moment. Then, instead of taking the bait, he nodded and said, in a strangely subdued voice, “Yes. That might actually be your biggest problem.”

Fenris just stared at him blankly - this didn’t feel like the mage’s usual teasing, but he wasn’t sure what else it could be. He also wasn’t sure how to respond. Eventually, he settled for “Why am I not surprised that you would think that?”

Anders’ tone matched his own when he replied, “Because…I run my mouth a lot?”

“You might be on to something.”

Anders shook his head, his expression amused and…something else, Fenris couldn’t quite place it. They fell silent, settling for drinking – well, at least Fenris was - and watching their friends. Isabela was back among them. Fenris could not have said when exactly she had returned, but then again he had not really been paying attention. She had pulled Hawke into another, rather extensive dance. The servants had seen enough of his “skillset” over the course of the night to give them a wide berth.

“You know, I had been wondering why Isabela was so intent on coming here, but seeing Hawke’s….let’s be generous and call it ‘dancing’…I’m beginning to suspect this whole night may have been nothing but an elaborate attack on the host’s atrocious art collection,” Anders said as Hawke bumped into another side-table.

“And yet you enjoy watching him.”

“As do you. So we’re both still pathetic. Not exactly breaking news, is it?”

“I suppose not.” Again, Fenris kept his voice flat. Although, considering their current topic, he felt unusually…light. It seemed Anders had been right – admitting it did take off some of the sting. And some of the urge to snarl at the mage as well.

By now, the witch had joined the dancing, and Hawke was twirling both women around the floor. Or at least that was likely what he thought he was doing.

“As entertaining as watching this complete shipwreck is, do you think it’s late enough for me to politely excuse myself now? I still have work to do – and I have my doubts Hawke is going to keep his promise of stealing leftovers.”

“Well, Isabela _is_ up to something.”

“True. But somehow I doubt it’s food related.”

“We shall see.”

“Wait a minute…are you…asking me to stay? More than a half-date after all!”

Fenris frowned. He had not done that. But maybe he had also not…not done that. He sighed. That would probably earn him another lecture on dating etiquette. Although perhaps he should try to learn some of that. True, he had no use for it presently, but maybe one day he would be…ready. Maybe he would meet someone. A foolish hope, most likely, but still…It could not hurt to be prepared.

“I am merely saying that Hawke will spot you trying to leave right away. He will scold you; you will argue; in the end you will stay – and Hawke will make sure to keep you in his sight, right there in the noisy middle. You may as well save yourself the trouble, enjoy the quiet and the stars overhead.”

“Quiet corners, concern for my well-being, and mentions of starry nights – yes, this is definitely more than half a date. Three quarters, at least.”

“We are not in a corner, mage.”

“So you admit to concern for my well-being?” Triumphant smugness wasn’t Anders’ best look.

“Will anything short of pushing you over the railing convince you otherwise?”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

The conviction in Anders’ voice was as annoying as it was satisfying – so Fenris wasn’t such a “wild dog” after all...

“No, I would not,” he agreed with a sigh.


	5. Chapter 5

“You’re wearing new clothes,” the mage said by way of greeting when Fenris arrived at the location of the night’s “event”.

“I was informed I needed to make more of an effort.”

“Well, whoever gave you that information is wise indeed – and I’m quite sure also charming and incredibly good-looking.”

“As far as your tastes go, certainly.”

“Since I have exceptionally good taste, I’ll just take that as a compliment,” Anders shrugged with a grin. “And the advice paid off – those _really_ look good on you. Though I’m surprised you actually made the effort.”

It was Fenris’ turn to shrug. “You know Hawke. The real effort would have been keeping him _from_ buying me clothes.”

“Yes, he’s the persistent type,” the mage agreed, spreading his arms and gesturing at his outfit, also new, as far as Fenris could tell - and it was unlikely he would have forgotten… _that_.

“I see you got the colourful option this time.”

“Well, I might have complained about last time’s all-black a little too much…not good?”

“There is certainly no risk of losing sight of you tonight.”

Anders chuckled. “I’d be insulted, but even I have to admit the purple’s a bit much. Whereas you are pulling off the one shade of black rather well.”

“As did you. And I told you as much. Yet you chose to ignore me.”

“I didn’t _ignore_ you; I was just jealous.”

“You should work on that,” Fenris said, wondering if they were still talking about clothes.

“You’re probably right,“ Anders nodded, and Fenris was fairly certain they weren’t.

There was an awkward pause, Anders chewing on his lip, Fenris examining the soles of his feet, and both of them occasionally scanning the crowd. Finally, Fenris cleared his throat and asked, “Should we go inside? Or is that not the correct procedure?” It seemed most of the guests were still lingering outside.

“I have honestly no idea. I assume this is similar to the playhouse, just smaller? They probably have seats reserved for Hawke here as well.”

“Let us move on then.”

 

The “seats” turned out to be little more than ordinary chairs, wooden and scratchy. The room was small, hardly bigger than the main room of the Hanged Man, and there were no food vendors, as Fenris noticed with dismay. He had quite enjoyed eating while watching the play.

On the plus side, the uncomfortable chairs kept you from falling asleep. On the minus side – the uncomfortable chairs kept you from falling asleep. Loud snoring would surely have caused another scandal, but after an hour of several actors declaiming Orlesian poetry at varying levels of pretentiousness, Fenris couldn’t have cared less. It was simply horrible. And no, the risqué parts did not make it any more interesting - two “lovers” throwing thinly veiled innuendos at each other while winking every other line was about as exciting as Aveline’s detailed accounts of the _Fundamental laws of Kirkwall_. Anders seemed to like these parts, however. Out of the corner of his eye, Fenris occasionally caught him grinning widely.

“You appear to be enjoying yourself,” he remarked when there finally, _finally_ was a break.

“Well, that may be taking it a bit too far, they’re pretty much butchering the material, but I remember many of these poems; I read and re-read them so many times while I was in the Circle…So I guess it’s mainly nostalgia.”

“You _chose_ to read those? Were all other books on fire?”

Anders failed to supress a giggle, “They actually were, more often than you’d think – many enchanters were in the habit of teaching fire spells in the library, for whatever reason. But no, I didn’t read them for lack of alternatives…And I guess I don’t have to ask how _you_ like it.”

Fenris merely glared at him.

“I get it, though,” the mage continued. “You’re certainly not wrong when it comes to the performance being horrible, and since you’ve never read the poems, they must just seems awful to you…Well, to be fair, most of them probably _are_ pretty awful, but what can I say, younger me really... _liked_ them,” he finished with an exaggerated wink.

“No more winking!” Fenris groaned.

Anders snickered and started rummaging through the pockets on his coat – he’d kept it on, even though the crowded room was fairly warm. “Here, this might make the next hour a little more bearable,” he said, offering Fenris a large bag of sweets. (Just how deep were these pockets?) “I noticed you seemed to like the food last time. These aren’t the same, but I thought you might enjoy them…it’s not quite a bowl, but a bag should work too.”

“I…thank you,” Fenris said. ”Though you buying food is rather unusual.”

“Don’t worry, I blackmailed Hawke into getting them for us.”

“ _That_ does sound like you.”

Anders did not seem to mind. He did, in fact, look almost proud. “Well, you’re welcome. I guess they’ll continue in a few minutes. Who knows, maybe the second half will manage to awaken your poetic nature.”

“Of course. I crave nothing more than people reciting bad poetry at me,” Fenris replied dryly.

“Well, in that case, let me see what I can do…

 

Fenris, an elf so fierce and pretty

\- and on occasion rather witty –

has fists of substance much like air,

a young man’s grin, but an old man’s hair.

Venomous words cloaked in a velvet voice,

of boys and girls he has free choice.

He makes them sigh, for he has eyes for none,

or, rather hopelessly, just one.

A proud, free man, on his knees for no master,

though I bet he’d go down for the one he’s after.

A wall of spikes contains his rage

\- unless, of course, you are a mage.

Still, I sense kindness in his soul.

sometimes he even lets it show!

More often, he opts to growl and brood,

and be prepared, he hogs the food.”

 

Anders finished, with a smug grin and a little flourish. Fenris just stared at him for a long moment, completely flummoxed. Then a thought occurred to him.

“Did you... _prepare_ that?”

Anders shrugged, “Got stuck writing my manifesto. This was more fun…And I figured you'd consider it a more valuable use of my time as well.”

“Mocking me?”

“Hey, I did call you fierce and pretty.”

Yes, Fenris had noticed that...had _liked_ that. But the mage had also said…

“My hair is not old.”

“Well, it is kind of…alright, maybe that part was a little mean,” Anders said with a smile that was as close to contrite as Fenris had ever seen on him. “It doesn’t actually look old, just unusual…And it suits you! Honestly, it’s one of your most striking features.” His eyes squeezed shut for a moment. “Hawke likes it too.”

“There is no need to coddle me, mage.”

“Trust me, I’m not. He says it’s extremely soft. I’d rather not know _how_ he knows that.”

“He once held it back when I threw up. He said it was soft then as well. He was just being nice.”

“Well, since he told me - and pretty much everyone else - about it too, I doubt that.”

Fenris wondered if allowing the grin that tried to claw its way onto his face to succeed would be taking things too far. He decided to risk it. “Did it make you jealous?”

“Bitterly so,” Anders nodded, a small smile playing around his lips. It seemed things between them were stable enough…for now.

Fenris remained silent, at first, but then decided to return the kindness the mage had just shown him. “I did not enjoy hearing him remark on your ‘breath-taking smile’ either.”

“Now you’re just making things up.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “I am not the dwarf. He said it was a pity you were always so miserable, as your smile was breath-taking. Which is no news to anyone who has seen it.”

“Thank you, Fenris,” Anders said in that half-whisper of his.

They fell silent once more, and Fenris wondered how much longer this intermission could possibly last. The mage had even had time enough to recite poetry of his own, after all. Then, another thought occurred to him.

“Tell me the one about Hawke.”

“The one about Hawke?” He had apparently startled the mage out of some daydream, or maybe a demon-discussion.

“Do you really want to pretend you didn't write one?” He grinned right into Anders’ confused face.

“Well...Alright, yes, I did...like I said I got bored.”

“Is it your _lover's lament_?” Fenris asked, still grinning. He might not be a poet (though in all honesty, neither was Anders), but he could certainly tease as well as the mage.

Anders huffed. “No. I wrote that years ago, and I'm not ever going to share it. This one is more like yours...”

“Mockery.”

“No. More like...a friendly wink and little teasing...as is yours, by the way. It was meant in good fun.” His voice got unusually quiet. “I didn't mean to offend you.”

Fenris knew it was time to stop teasing. “You did not.”

“No?”

“No. It was funny. I can take a joke.”

Anders perked up. “ _And_ I called you pretty.”

“You did,” Fenris nodded.

There was a slight pause before Anders continued, “...I'm not going to get you to call me pretty as well, am I?”

“Wear those tight pants again, and I might consider it.”

He had been wrong. _Now_ the mage perked up. “I’ll keep that in mind. And there might soon be an opportunity for that. Hawke mentioned some sort of exhibition he wants to send us to when we bought the sweets earlier.”

“I see.”

“Is that a yes?”

“You say that like ‘no’ was an option.”

“Fair point. So…it’s a date,” Anders grinned.

Fenris shrugged, “If you say so,” which somehow only made the mage grin more.

 

It wasn’t until after the actors had resumed murdering language that Fenris realized Anders had distracted him and had never actually delivered the poem about Hawke. Well, that would not do. He would drag it out of him as soon as this atrocity was over.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a demand to see the poem about Hawke in the comments, and after a little persuading, Anders agreed to share it.
> 
> Hawke, all of Kirkwall knows his name,  
> has many gifts, lacks all trace of shame,  
> stabbing with daggers or stabbing with tongue,  
> eulogy or threat – he’ll still find a pun.  
> But hurt those he loves and you’ll meet your death  
> his affection burns hotter than a dragon’s breath,  
> and if you’re foolish enough to draw his scorn  
> he’ll chase you in circles, then cut your horns.  
> Arms the size of a Sylvan’s trunk,  
> smiled at me once and my heart was drunk.  
> Alas, I wasn’t alone in this,  
> everyone’s attention, he wants to be his.  
> So though he hugs like a bear, and it feels like fate,  
> best remember not everything’s all that great,  
> like, his leathers end far too north of the knee  
> and he dances like a Bronto stung by a bee.

“How about…Bearpaws?”

“How about you shut your mouth, whore?”

“Hey, you’re the one who’s been complaining that Varric doesn’t have a nickname for you; we’re just trying to help out.”

“’We’ meaning just _you_ piling one ridiculous idea on top of the next. Why don’t you have some food instead? Men are not the only ones who prefer you with your mouth full.”

“Ooouh, nice one, Ogrefeet. Have you been practicing that one too? And just so you know, women do indeed _like_ that too.”

“Shut up.”

The conversation had gone in this vein for the better part of the night. Considering this, Aveline was still in relatively good spirits…although it was probably safe to assume that the urge to punch the pirate was rising. It was unlikely to grow past the threshold for “action”, however. The two of them had their rhythm; they knew how far they could safely push one another. For people outside their little group, it was probably hard to grasp that they genuinely liked each other, but Fenris understood the impulse to tease – and the underlying respect that was, for all their differences, always present – perfectly well. The mage was trying, and failing, to supress a giggle at Isabela’s next suggestion. Perhaps it wasn’t only about differences, but just as much about similarities obscured by them.

“Isabela’s not the only one who’s had ideas,” the witch piped up from the other side of the table.

“Kitten, please. If I have to listen to another lecture on the purpose of _Chevaliers_ and our _general inappropriateness_ , I will perish of boredom right on the spot,” Isabela interrupted her with a sigh.

“But Varric told me the story of her name, and it means…”

“Her reasons are her own,” Hawke cut in, an unmistakeable sharpness creeping into his playful tone. And a, not necessarily unusual but still remarkable, softness in his voice when he added, “Sometimes, that is all that remains.”

Fenris didn’t know what exactly was being communicated there, but _something_ definitely was, and it was clear enough to make the witch stop prattling. And Isabela didn’t press further either, because she knew it too, if only because she _really_ knew _Hawke_. Which she did, as much as she liked to pretend it was all just for fun, and as much as it stung to admit it. It didn’t sting quite as badly as it used to, though. Maybe time was finally beginning to show him some mercy. The mage had loosened his hair and was fiddling with the tie in his hands, looking like his mind was in some faraway place. Fenris wondered if he was still listening to them.

“Nah, Daisy, don’t take it bad; Aveline’s a tough case. Haven’t found a name that didn’t make her crinkle both nose and forehead at me yet, either,” the dwarf said.

“As if you really tried,” Aveline snorted. “It would be a challenge to come up with something less original than ‘Red’.”

“May I remind you that he refers to me as ‘Elf’?”

“Serrah, you wound me,” the dwarf announced gravely, clutching his chest. “There you are, insulting us hard-working folks, while you spend all your days brooding in corners and don’t even try to contribute.”

“That’s right,” the pirate agreed, soothingly patting Varric’s arm, “You try and come up with something better for big girl here before you mock our efforts.”

Her tone was like a stuck-out tongue and Fenris kept his voice pointedly even as he replied, “Marigold.”

The mage erupted into hysterical laughter a few seconds before the others followed suit, and Fenris felt a surge of satisfaction. That Aveline’s face had taken on a colour that actually made ‘Red’ a rather plausible choice was an added bonus – as was the fact that he had beaten Isabela. Although the way Aveline’s glance was zeroing in on him now made him wonder if there _would_ be some punching after all…

Anders winked at him and, before Aveline had time to start the onslaught, said, “Although if you prefer it shorter, you could always go for _Copper_.”

“That also ties in nicely with the ‘Red’ theme,” the dwarf snickered.

Aveline shot a few more wild glares across the table, but eventually resigned herself to a muttered, “You are all horrible…”

The mage grinned at Fenris. “That’s our special charm.”

“We are an acquired taste,” Fenris nodded in agreement.

“Mmmmm, whatever _taste_ would that be, I wonder,” purred the pirate.

Aveline groaned, “I’d say keep it in your pants, but I doubt you’re wearing any.” Turning her attention back to Fenris, she added, “Is that what you two get up to on those little field trips of yours? I thought that was supposed to be Hawke’s new favourite method for torturing the nobility, but it looks like you’re coming up with ways to annoy the rest of us instead. I have to say, in that case I’d rather you two simply stuck to annoying each other.”

“We can multitask,” Anders deadpanned.

Fenris decided the opportunity was too good and the content harmless enough. Still, he sought Anders gaze when he said, “I am afraid you got that mixed up. You may be multiple people, but you can hardly multitask.”

“Hah. Well, I guess I’ll just have to find ways to prove you wrong, maybe at that fancy dinner Hawke wants us to attend next week. You’ll be amazed, I can even talk with my mouth full… If you agree to go, that is.”

“And once again you say that like the last, what, ten times weren’t sufficient proof that we have no choice in the matter whatsoever.”

The mage smirked, “I’m surprised you can actually count that high.”

“I have been honing basic skills when bored. Your incessant chatter provided ample opportunity.”

Hawke looked at both of them, eyebrows drawn into a sharp V. “Are you two actually still…smiling? This sounds like the kind of talk that should be followed by broken limbs...Maybe I shouldn’t send you out together anymore after all; as lovely as it is to see my honoured neighbours seethe in scandalized outrage –natural order itself seems to be at stake here.”

“You can always choose to attend these events yourself,” Fenris reminded him.

Hawke grimaced, “A whole night dining with Hightown residents, that….might not be worth it.”

“You certainly won’t get me to attend, sweet thing,” Isabela chortled, “and funny, I could have sworn you were a Hightown resident yourself...”

“Well, if Isabela doesn’t want to accompany you, you could of course also go with me,” the mage chimed in. “Or with Fenris,” he quickly added, flashing a shy smile in the elf’s direction.

Fenris returned the smile. He appreciated the gesture, even as he was sure Hawke would not agree to go anyway, which Anders probably knew just as well…and which wasn’t all that bad, honestly. The more "dates" they went on, the less he seemed to mind. Watching the mage annoy their "betters" never failed to amuse. And he was fun to be around, at least when he stopped his pre-emptive attacks and they could simply _be_ , not constantly navigate through an imaginary war zone. They had developed some kind of routine, and though he certainly wouldn’t mind spending time with Hawke, it would be…strange to be at one of these events without Anders.

“Hmm, maybe another time,” Hawke said, to no one’s surprise. “As it is, the natural order will just have to make do on its own. Still, perhaps you two could snarl at each other just a _little_ more?”

“We will try our best,” Fenris said evenly.

“Our absolute very best,” Anders added in the same manner.

“We shall begin to work on this task immediately.”

“Wouldn’t want to disappoint, oh Champion, my Champion.”

“Oh shut up, both of you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders was a little upset that no one thought to write poetry about HIM, so Fenris grudgingly took over the job.
> 
> He is a mage, he talks a lot,  
> I highly doubt anyone forgot.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, that got long…Sorry if there are (way) more typos etc. than usual, I’m afraid I lost concentration (along with, you know, the will to live) halfway through the editing process…

The room was spacious – and _bright_ , a brazier behind every other chair, and three chandeliers gracing the air above the absurdly long table, around which at least four dozen nobles were sitting in perfect composure, the murmur of their voices as constant as waves upon a shore, though with considerably more condescension than water was typically known to convey. And they were right in the centre of it all.

They had tried to place themselves somewhere along the fringes, of course, but the seats had been assigned in advance, with the city’s Champion naturally placed where everyone could see him. Well, if he had been there. Instead, Hightown’s finest had to make do with an elf and an apostate who wanted to be there about as much as their presence was desired. At least the other guests did not pay them much attention, once their initial disappointment that the Champion had not bothered to show up in person had been sufficiently made known.

Fenris kept his sighs as inward as he could. Most of the times they had substituted for Hawke had been rather amusing, if in many cases only because Anders and he found a way to make them thus, but this evening promised to be of the unbearable sort. Pompous surroundings, trapped in a fixed position, eyes lurking in every direction, unpleasant people around them…He had always hated banquets, always felt suffocated standing behind Danarius’ chair, forbidden to move a muscle, a silent statue only flashing to life when ordered. Watching for threats, and watching the slaves his master had brought to taste his food (he never let Fenris do that, smarter than most in the consideration that a dead bodyguard offered poor protection) drop at his feet in violent spasms as life left them on more than one occasion. He wished he had not come here. Someone nudged his arm, and he smiled a little despite himself. At least he had not come here alone.

“Are you alright? You’re unusually twitchy today.”

“I am fine.” He sighed, this time also on the outside. “But I do not like it here. We are too exposed. There are eyes everywhere.”

“Yes, all these people, and all that bloody _light_ …what’s wrong with a little dimness? That’s much more practical. Have Marchers never heard of having a little fun under the table?” He turned his head to fully face Fenris and said, with a warmth that felt genuine. “If it gets too much, just keep your eyes fixed on me.”

“I doubt spending the entire evening facing each other would keep attention _from_ us.”

“Well, then just look at my profile. Focus on my nose; I’ve been told that’s hard to miss.”

“Your nose is fine, mage.”

“What, that’s all? Now that’s a little worrying; you must be even more uncomfortable than I thought,” Anders said, brow creasing.

“You do have a giant forehead.”

“Thank you, that’s better.”

There was movement near the doors, a stream of servants carrying plates making their way into the room. They moved with precision. Which made sense. Assigned seats, assigned servants, assigned plates…

“Well, as unpleasant as the rest may be, this certainly looks delicious,” Anders said with flagrant delight when their dishes were placed in front of them.

Fenris just stared at what had been prepared in the assumption that Hawke would be the one to eat it.

“What’s the matter? Not good enough for your refined tastes?”

This wasn’t Tevinter, and he had never heard talk of attacks like this being common in this region. There was almost definitely nothing to fear. Still, he was not sure if the mage was at all aware that possibility existed. If not, he deserved to be warned. He said, under his breath so as to minimalize the amount of people who could listen in on them, “In Tevinter, events liked these are frequently used for assassinations.”

“A…ssassinations?” Anders voice was as wavering as his eyes were wide.

“Yes. A little poison in the food and…”

Anders was staring alternately at him and his plate “You…don’t think anyone would try to poison Hawke, do you?”

“What do you think? Would you say his personality lends itself to making enemies?”

“I…am suddenly not all that hungry anymore.”

Fenris chuckled. “As I said, in Tevinter. To my knowledge, this city has no such traditions.”

“Neither has Ferelden. Didn’t stop Loghain from poisoning his opponents. I’d rather not leave this world foaming at the mouth.” His sigh sounded as much resigned as accusatory. “Great, now you’ve ruined the food. This evening just got so much worse.”

Fenris shook his head, not bothering to hide his grin. Yet he decided to abstain from the food (and drink) as well. This might not be Tevinter, but you never knew…

 

When the rest of the table was halfway through the first course, the lady sitting next to Anders turned to him with a concerned look, “Oh my dear, you haven’t touched your food at all…is something wrong with it?”

Face grave and sincere, the mage sighed and said, “What can I say, he likes me skinny…” nodding his head in Fenris’ direction.

“You’re one to talk,” Fenris replied without missing a beat, dramatically gesturing at his own body. He had gotten used to the mage’s way of making sure no noble would make the mistake of approaching them twice. It was definitely not lacking in variety.

The woman smiled at them. “Well, I'm not convinced it's worth starving for, but you certainly are an attractive couple.”

“It’s kind of you to notice, but trust me, it’s nothing compared to how good we look naked.”

Fenris wasn't sure whether to blush, laugh or punch the mage. Generally, he rather enjoyed the mage’s deliberately inappropriate behaviour, but _this_ was...

Yet Anders’ victim seemed undeterred, “Is that an invitation? I must say, not my usual type of diversion, but compared to the conversation around here, I dare say it would be an improvement.” Her tone was conversationally, not sleazy like he would have expected from someone like her. In fact, the amused twinkle in her eyes reminded him more of Anders than of the other guests. “And, I assume, very easy on the eyes.”

Blush was now the only option. At least for him, Anders just twinkled right back, “Oh, you don't know the half of it. He's packing.”

That was it, Fenris would be blushing for the rest of his life.

“I am intrigued…But I think we're making the poor dear uncomfortable. Handsome and well-spoken man that he is, I’m sure he has plenty of admirers to choose from. If you want to keep him, you'd better treat him well.”

Perhaps this one wasn't so bad.

“That sounds like you’re planning to snatch him away,” Anders said. He was still smiling, but his voice didn’t sound quite as amused as before.

“No need to worry, Serrah. I’m not in the habit of breaking hearts.”

“Well, the same can't be said for him,” the mage was all grin again.

Fenris would _definitely_ punch him later. She did not know the joke behind it, to her it had to sound like he…like he was…

Her eyes met his, and her smile was gentle. “Well, whatever lies in his past, I am certain he will treat yours with care.”

“And you believe you’re in a position to judge that?” It was more snorted than said.

She shrugged. “He does not strike me as someone who trifles with affection. And behind that wall of jokes of yours, I have an inkling there's quite a bit of care as well.”

“Well, you certainly are a master of observation. Since you have such keen senses, you must also know we're basically Lowtown trash.” There was something in the mage’s voice that was definitely no longer amusement.

Anders was out of line. The woman had looked into Fenris’ eyes, not at his ears. That was more than could be said for anyone else they had met at these events.

“Please correct me if I am misinformed, but I thought there were hearts in Lowtown just as well?” She leaned in conspiratorially and fake-whispered, “I have heard rumours there have even been some spotted in Darktown!”

“You're...mocking me.” The mage’s brow was thoroughly creased as he peered at her sideways.

“Well, my keen senses do tell me you are someone who offers plenty of opportunities for that.” Fenris snorted. She winked at him, and she didn't seem to care who saw it. “Your anger, however, is not something that deserves mockery.” Her tone was serious for a moment, but then the twinkle returned. “And I quite like a man with a bit of fire. Don't you?” Again, she winked at Fenris.

He nodded. “He is, if nothing else, never cold. Yet it is best not to place him in the vicinity of paper.”

She grinned. Anders glared.

When the second course arrived, her attention was called back to the person on her other side. She made no further comments regarding their untouched food, but every now and again, she smiled at Fenris. She probably would have smiled at Anders as well, but he was far too busy using his spoon to shoot food across the table.

“Since we’re not eating it, might as well put it to some use. That man over there could do with a few more spots of colour on his outfit, don’t you think? I bet I can hit more guests without them noticing than you!”

It was silly and childish and Fenris should absolutely not encourage this kind of behaviour, but…it _was_ a way to keep his hands busy.

As it turned out, it was also quite fun. Especially since Anders stood no chance of winning his bet; Fenris clearly had more talent for surreptitious movements. He quickly got the hang of it, even managed to create a few rather impressive patterns, while Anders’ missiles more often than not hit the tablecloth. Profoundly engrossed in eating and boring one another, none of the nobles seemed to notice – except for the woman next to Anders, but she just chuckled quietly and let them be. Then again, she was outside their line of fire.

When the last course had been finished and they got up to leave, she bid them farewell. “I hope the rest of the night will do more for your appetites. And please give the Champion my deepest condolences for his loss. I knew his mother when she was younger; she was an admirable girl. I am glad he seems to take after her, determined to find his own way…And he chose friends who know how to amuse themselves. That’s always a good sign. “

 

“We should remember to pass her message on to Hawke. He will want to hear it,” Fenris said as they approached the entrance hall.

“Well, sure, it’s just...did you, by any chance, pay attention when her name was announced?”

Oh. “No.”

The mage muttered, “Well, it doesn’t really matter, does it, she still lives up here and lets the people below starve.”

“Hawke lives up here as well. You may admit that you like her; it won’t kill you…Probably,” Fenris smirked,” “She certainly was attractive, if a bit old for you.”

“She…was a worthy opponent. Not what I thought. But, well, I don't know where your eyes went, mine certainly never strayed. _I_ am a perfect gentlemen; I only have eyes for my date. Besides, she was clearly more interested in _you_.”

They got in line to collect Anders’ coat.

“My eyes never stray. Which reminds me…” he punched the mage’s arm, not as hard as he could have, but hard enough to make sure he felt it.

“Ow,” Anders exclaimed, rubbing the spot Fenris had hit, “What was that for?”

“For implying I break hearts.”

“I didn’t mean…”

“I know what you meant. She did not. She thinks I toy with people’s feelings.”

“It was a joke. She knew that.” He grinned. “And who’s to say you _haven’t_ broken any hearts? Half the town could be quietly pining after you, for all you know.”

“I highly doubt it. And if it were so, it would be through no fault of mine.”

“That’s what they all say.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “You are aware that the same could apply to you?”

Anders shrugged. “Not very likely. And irrelevant, _I_ would not have punched you for making that joke.”

“I would not have made it.”

“Ah yes, because your jokes are always perfectly classy.”

“No. Mine are funny.”

 

They walked home to the sound of Anders’ growling stomach. In the constant chatter of the banquet, Fenris had only occasional noticed it, but there was no way to miss this cacophony in the quiet of the empty Hightown streets. It was a pitiful sound indeed, and Fenris felt sorry for him…or would have, had he not been so busy laughing.

“It has only been two hours, mage.”

“Not if you add the rest of the day…and the day before,” the mage replied, a little sheepishly.

“You have not eaten since yesterday? That is foolish.”

“It wasn’t on purpose; I…forgot. I was busy.”

Fenris instantly recognised the defensiveness, hidden behind pointed nonchalance, which crept into Anders' voice when he was particularly embarrassed. They had been on enough "dates" for that. He had also learned enough to know that Anders would not respond to prodding, or any signs of anger in this state. So he settled for merely sighing,

"Mage..."

His restraint was rewarded with a blush and a mumbled, "They want coin for food, you know. I realized too late I didn't have any..."

"How exactly did you miss that?" There was too much exasperation in his voice. He realized that, but he could not help himself.

“Unlike you, I don’t rob my friends blind during every card game. And I have a clinic that needs supplies.”

“You could have asked Hawke for coin. Or the dwarf. Either of them would help you out.”

“Yeah, can’t think of a reason why I didn’t run begging to my friends.”

“You ask Hawke to buy you food all the time, and you’re on Varric’s tab.”

“It’s one thing to score a little food or drink when we’re in the Hanged Man or browsing the market. This is different.

Maybe it really was. Now that he thought about it, the thought of asking Hawke for money to buy a cask of ale made him uncomfortable, whereas accepting a drink Hawke offered him never had.

“You could also have asked me.”

“Like I said, I don’t run begging to my…friends.” The pause was brief, but it was there. His voice did not sound mocking or scornful, however; it was, on the contrary, almost…timid. Fenris wasn’t sure if he would have been able to use the term with any more conviction. A friend…was that what Anders was? He could not claim that the mage’s pause had not stung. Would it do that if he didn’t think of Anders as a friend?

“Hawke has us spend a lot of time together. Often at hours where we are more likely to be attacked, so I would prefer it if you were in a condition that still allowed you to fight. Next time you need coin, come to me. I will not deny you.” It was true that Anders put them both at risk if he allowed his health, and strength, to deteriorate. Yet Fenris also did not want him to suffer, even as it was because of his own foolishness. They probably made about the same amount of coin from their adventures with Hawke, yet Fenris had never taken into consideration that Anders had a clinic to support (and, though that was best not brought up, probably the odd runaway mage). He felt slightly uneasy for all the times he had beaten him at cards. Sure it wasn't his fault that Anders was such a hopeless player, or chose to participate in the first place, but he remembered with a certain uneasiness the special glee he used to feel at collecting from _him_. Over the last months, that feeling had abated, but he had still never thought of letting him win once in a while…Well, perhaps because he had known such an endeavour would likely prove futile – Venhedis, the mage even managed to lose to Hawke’s _dog_. But Fenris _could_ do something to save his wounded pride. “And unlike you, I do not babble. No one will know.”

“I am still perfectly capable of defending mys….” The rest of that statement was lost in yet another echoing gurgle.

“You will not get home without attracting attention.”

“Well, at least this time I have my staff.”

“True. I merely doubt you still have the strength to hold it. We are near my mansion. I can provide food there – that is, if you don’t perish before we reach it.”

“I’d hit you with a witty comeback, but I’m too faint to think. Insult me all you like, so long as you feed me.”

“You are going to regret that offer.”

 

“The kitchen is over there.”

“You have a kitchen?”

“Yes, this _mansion_ comes equipped with a room for preparing food.” Fenris opened the door and ushered the mage in.

“I figured that much – shocking, I know – I just didn’t expect you to, actually, you know, _use_ it…or for it to be so well stocked. “

Fenris had finished lighting a few candles, and the mage was gaping in obvious awe at the supplies surrounding them. His stomach offered some noisy comments as well, which Fenris took as his cue to get to work.

“I do eat, mage.”

He picked up a knife and then rummaged through his cupboards for a second clean plate and silverware – he usually had no need for more than one set, since he rarely entertained guests. Never, actually. Come to think of it, not even Hawke had ever shared more than a glass of wine with him, and Anders was the first to enter his kitchen. His first _real_ guest. For some reason, he quite liked the thought.

“True. Actually, every time we go out, you stuff yourself like there’s no tomorrow. Don’t know why I was so surprised; I just somehow expected it to be…sparse. Obviously, I was wrong.”

“You should be used to that by now.”

The mage hadn’t been entirely off in his assessment – his position as a bodyguard hadn’t exactly offered many opportunities for acquiring domestic skills, and what little he had learned on the run was limited to the fast and efficient skinning and roasting of small wildlife. Hence, his kitchen did indeed function more as a storage room than one where actual cooking took place, but Fenris decided that counted just as well. Besides, he did _some_ preparing, he thought as he used the knife to cut off generous amounts of bread, cheese, and smoked meat. He also sliced two apples and carrots and divided what was left of the cake he had bought the day before, which – to his shame and a testament to his proclivity for sweets – wasn’t all that much.

He handed one of the plates to Anders and grabbed his own along with a bottle of wine. “We can eat upstairs. It is more comfortable.”

The mage stared at the pile of food in his hand with wide eyes. “Maker, Fenris, I could just about _kiss_ you right now.”

The elf kept his head down, hoping his blush would not show in the dim light. “I assume that would interfere with eating.”

“Probably, Anders agreed, almost drooling on his plate, “but who knows, it might be worth perishing of hunger for.”

“I do not need another corpse in my hallway.”

“Are those still there?” the mage chuckled, “I didn’t notice them coming in…Didn’t Aveline have them cleared out behind your back while we were on a trip with Hawke years ago?”

“She did. Which hasn’t stopped you all from mocking me for them.”

“Well, it _was_ pretty disgusting.”

“You live in a sewer.”

Anders sighed, “Yes, that kind of makes it hard to win any argument on sanitary matters, still, my point is….shut up.”

“As I recall it, _I_ may insult all I like tonight.”

The mage sighed once more, eyes still glued to the food, “Alright, alright, have at it, guess I won’t hear much of it over all the chewing anyway.”

“I suggest we go upstairs, first.”

“Lead the way…Seriously, please do, I don’t want to get lost in this haunted void-pit.”

“You are talking about my home, mage.”

“Well, not that the ‘elusive handsome elf’- part isn’t nice, but I could do without meeting whatever other angry spirits might dwell here.”

Once again, Fenris was grateful for the sparse lighting.

 

Compared to the darkness of the rest of the mansion, the kitchen had been flooded with light. For Fenris, this did not pose much a problem; elf eyes were much better adapted to the dark than humans’. Not that he really needed this advantage – he could have just as easily found his way blindfolded. He only used the one room he inhabited, the kitchen, and the bathing chamber, but he had still learned the whole floorplan by heart, or rather, by eyes and feet, right after moving in – every possible entrance point, every dark corner that might shroud a hunter, the weak spots that were best avoided, the rooms that were the easiest to defend should the need the barricade himself inside them arise…He might not physically claim much of his mansion’s space, but he _knew_ every inch of it.

Anders, however, did not. After the first minute of stumbling at nearly every step (and bumping right into the bannister once they reached the staircase), he resolutely grabbed on to Fenris’ elbow – “I’m not sure what I’ll do if I drop the food, but it sure as Blight isn’t going to be pretty…hope you don’t mind if I cling to your spiky elbow for a broody rescue.”

“I assume guiding high-strung mages to safety is proper etiquette. Just try not to faint before we reach the top.”

Even without turning around, he could feel Anders smiling. “You remember. Does that mean you actually listen when I talk?”

“It surprises me too.”

It took them a while, but Fenris managed to guide the mage safely upstairs and to his room. As always, the door was open – now that Danarius was dead, it was unlikely that hunters would try to ambush him, but he had not yet managed to shake that habit – and Fenris was suddenly struck by how cold and uninviting the dark room must seem. Anders’ clinic might be in the Undercity, but even amidst all the dirt and debris, makeshift and barren as it was, there was a certain warmth and liveliness to it…which his mansion clearly lacked. There wasn’t much he could do about it, though, Anders would just have to deal with it. At least Fenris home was stocked with the basic necessities for survival, like _food_. And a fireplace. If nothing else, he could do something against the cold, and the darkness.

He took Anders plate and placed it, along with his own and the wine, on the small table, yet before he could get to work on the fire, Anders already gestured at the hearth, “May I? I won’t if you mind, but well…it’s the one way I can be useful.”

Fenris nodded, “Of course. Feel free to be useful.” While the mage sent a very small, very controlled fireball on its way, he went to drag the table and the only comfortable chairs he had closer to the fireplace, adding, “Magic is not your only skill. I have seen you in your clinic. You treat minor wounds without it all the time…and let’s not forget your stomach’s musicality, or your…unique…talent for poetry.”

The mage _actually_ stuck his tongue out at him. Without thinking, Fenris picked up a slice of apple and threw it at him. A perfect hit, right between the eyes.

“Hey, leave the food out of it!”

“Good to know _that_ is what you’re protective of.”

Anders shrugged, “My head’s seen worse.”

“That explains a lot,” Fenris grinned – and grinned even more when the mage started to pout. “I told you you would regret it.”

“You haven’t actually fed me yet, you know,” Anders shot back, eyebrows raised along with his head.

Fenris gestured to the table, “You are welcome to sit down and start any time.”

Without further words, the mage dropped down into the armchair next to the fire and began shovelling down his food. Remembering the intestinal concert that had accompanied their way home, Fenris was not all too surprised that his hunger won over his desire to argue. He sat down across from him and dived into his own meal.

After the unsatisfactory banquet, he certainly had need for food himself, and the mage was right, he did tend to stuff himself. Whether that was because of his fondness for food or out of defiance – no more waiting for whatever share his master thought he deserved, no longer forced to retain a _presentable_ figure – he was not sure, but he had no intention of stopping any time soon regardless of reason. It still didn’t make him in any way capable of keeping up with Anders. He was more than halfway through his plate before Fenris had even finished his second slice of bread. And he wasn’t exactly a graceful eater either; Fenris found himself wondering if he even managed to taste anything, or if he just swallowed it all whole.

“If you insist on inhaling your meal in one go, at least try not to choke on it.”

“Mmpf. Grpfphm. Mampfgh.”

“Eloquent.”

Anders noisily swallowed what was probably a whole apple and replied, a little more clearly, “I’ll try my best…and if I fail, you’ll at least have an excuse to get really close to me. To hug me tightly, _and_ to violently shake me so I spit it out. Whatever your preferences, you’ll be covered.”

And if _I_ fail, you _die_ , Fenris thought, but did not get to point it out as Anders continued, “Or maybe not, I mean, you could probably just reach inside and pull it out anyway…unless _that_ is what gets you going, of course.”

“I assure you, it is not. And by the time I’d manage to find it – blindly – you would most likely be dead. So _chew_.”

“Not just insulting, commanding as well. Interesting…” the mage grinned between slightly less sizeable bites. Fenris got up and made to take the mage’s plate. Anders’ face seemed to fall in on itself. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to make such a mess and…I’ll behave myself, I promise.”

“There is only once slice of bread left. I will get you some more.”

“It’s alright, Fenris, you’ve given me so much…And you’ve hardly eaten anything yourself yet. Sit down, I’ll be fine.” His face still looked a little crumpled, but Fenris thought he saw the hint of a smile peek over the ruins.

“Are you still hungry, mage?”

“I…”

“The truth.”

“Yes.” It was more sighed than said.

“Then you’ll get more food. Wait here.”

“As if I could find my way to anywhere else around here.”

 

Back in the kitchen, Fenris gathered a slightly larger amount of food for Anders’ second serving. There was no more cake left, but he found some dried fruits instead, and he added more meat than before – it had been the first thing gone from the mage’s plate, so he figured he liked it. Remembering that the mage would likely not partake of the wine, he also picked up some tea leaves, a mug and a kettle of water. Since it would offer another opportunity to be useful, he doubted Anders would mind taking care of bringing the water to a boil.

Walking up the stairs, he heard the mage humming in the distance. A slow, melancholic tune he didn’t think he had ever heard before. His voice was soft as it drifted down towards Fenris. It was too faint, too subdued to pass for singing, but it was enough like it to give him an idea of Anders’ singing voice. He couldn’t remember if anyone had ever sung to him. It felt…peaceful. Safe. Like a beacon of home guiding him up the dark stairs.

When he stepped into the room, the mage fell quiet, but his face still seemed lit up by the tune. He took the plate Fenris offered him with a smile.

“Thank you. And sorry for annihilating half of your supplies. I bet you regret inviting me along…there’s a reason I eat through my coin so quickly.”

Fenris sat back down across from him. “I am merely wondering where you put it all.”

“One of the questionable benefits of being a Grey Warden,” Anders sighed, looking far away for a moment. “It’s a side effect of the Joining, one of the lovely things they don’t tell you about before.”

“What else did they keep from you?”

“Let’s not ruin the mood, shall we.” Something dark flitted across Anders’ face. So close to the fire, he looked…fiery himself. A copper shine to his hair, his skin illuminated by the warm glow, his eyes much brighter than they usually shone, a sparkle of gold and syrup…Incandescent, like his self had been crystalized into a sharper presence. But also…sadder. And for all his fire, parts of him seemed to be caught in shadows long past, burning for places that were not here, people that were not him.

“How could you go so long without food then?” Heeding Anders’ wish, Fenris changed the subject. He wasn’t sure if this was any better suited to “not ruin the mood”, but he did not know what else to say. Also, he cared about the answer. If he knew _how_ , it might be possible to prevent it from happening again.

“Justice makes it easier to…neglect myself. He doesn’t really understand human needs, like sleep or food…”

“Tell your…spirit,” Anders smiled at him and gave a slight nod, “it is being foolish. You are no use to him dead.”

“He doesn’t mean harm; he just doesn’t understand…”

“He should make an effort. You are trying to understand him, are you not? He has had ample opportunity to observe human customs by now. I suggest he make use of it.”

“He…” Anders face crunched up in a strange, inward looking way, “oddly enough, I think he agrees.” He grinned, “I think you managed to actually make him feel a little ashamed. But then again, you two probably would have got along rather well when he was still in Kristof’s body.”

“I doubt that.”

“No, really…,” once again, the mage looked far away. Then his face lit up. “Have I ever told you how I met Justice?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow in pointed mockery. “Think hard. The answer might come to you.”

“Right.” Anders’ mouth curled up – and inwards in the slightest, warmest fashion. “But it’s a story that should be to your liking; it comes fully equipped with an evil witch, blood magic and the enslaving of a whole village – not that _that’_ s to your liking, but it _also_ has a happy ending, the evil witch defeated, the villagers freed…in a fashion…and the fade stopped from leaking into this world. In no small amount due to Justice…and with the way things are now, there’s even a chance we might get through it without yelling.” He finished with a little wink, but there was a gleam in his eyes that went beyond that. As if he, despite talking about his past, had fully come back into the room.

“I have been known to enjoy a good story.”

“Well, that’s convenient.”

Catching the mage’s glace wavering between him and the table, Fenris smirked. “Yes, you may eat while telling it.”

Anders breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks…I’d be too tempted to just rush through it otherwise. And I still have to show you I can talk with my mouth full!”

“I’ll…take your word for it. I have no desire to see you with your mouth full.”

“Well, that makes you quite the exception – so far, no man could ever get enough of _that_.”

The way Anders wiggled his eyebrows at him should have looked ridiculous. And it _did_ …but it also made Fenris rather glad he had a wine bottle to hide his face behind. At least his voice remained steady when he replied, “I like to stand out.”

Anders mouth did that strange, warm double curling again, but he did not say more. He busied himself with his plate instead and after another slice of bread had been wolfed down, began to lay out his story between bites (and, thankfully, swallowing).

He told it well. It should not have been a surprise that he was good at talking – after all, he was practicing _constantly_ – but in his usual jibes and rants, his voice didn’t have the opportunity to be so…soft. Gentle. And yet so lively. His story flowed out of him like a melody, like the tune he had been humming when Fenris returned from the kitchen, slow and quiet in some places, full of sudden vigour in others. He knew when to stop for a joke – and he never seemed to mind when Fenris interrupted him with a question, his answers waves of the same soothing timbre as the rest of his story. Or rather, stories. One seemed to flow into the next, unfolding like branches on a tree. And, in a way Fenris had not known was possible, they seemed to just as naturally tangle into the branches of his own stories – not the dark, hidden ones that clawed into your gut and covered you in ice without warning when there was so much as a wrong word exhaled against them, no, these were stories he had not even known he possessed, funny anecdotes, absurd little encounters, passing glimpses of the ridiculousness of strangers.

When Anders detailed how he had once had to fight his way out of an ancient ruin in nothing but his underwear, Fenris told him of the things he had encountered in the ruins he had sought shelter in (which were mostly, yet not exclusively, spiders), and of all the different kitchen utensils that had been thrown at him when he had been spotted snatching coats and blankets from clothing lines, or taking whatever food he could grab through an open window. Which in turn led to Anders telling him about all the times the same things had happened to him when he was on one of his escapes (though his stories involved less pans and more mabaris – “I was in Ferelden, after all). And to the discovery that no matter who you were running from or what regions you were running though, the amount of suspicious villagers, condescending innkeepers, and blackmail you had to put up with were surprisingly similar. Though their stories did differ rather distinctively in the amount of brothels they contained on one side, and the amount of mercenary work on the other (“What can I say, I’m useless with a sword.”).

Anders’ tales about the genius dwarf whose knowledge of how to blow up things exceeded even that of the Qunari reminded him of Anzo, the dwarf with the fear of the open skies who was, so sneakily unthreatening in all his jumpiness and twitching, a much better liar than Varric could ever hope to be, and who had, just by carrying out one small assignment, changed his life in more ways than he would ever know. The story of how he met him had Anders laughing in tears and was rewarded with not only the full disclosure of how Anders had first met the Hero of Ferelden (“You know she’s an elf, right?”) but also with a staggering amount of private details (“Oh, she wouldn’t mind. Comes across a bit harsh when you first meet her, but she’s alright.”). The prolonged gushing that followed sounded like a lot more than just “alright”, but no, they hadn’t been lovers (“Your interest in the matter is quite flattering, though.”); it turned out she had merely given him a cat (“For once, no pun intended.”). Once again, Fenris wondered what it was that made this such a sure-fire way to win the mage’s affection, but since he remembered that Anders had referred to the story behind it as painful, he decided not to ask. The mage looked happy. It was such a rare expression on him, Fenris did not want to destroy it just to satisfy his curiosity.

Instead, he listened to – Ser-Pounce-a-lot and a genlock, Ser-Pounce-a-lot and a grandfather’s bow, Ser-Pounce-a-lot and dwarven ale, Ser-Pounce-a-lot and an inconveniently placed ballista…There seemed to be an endless supply of these stories, and not only were some of them quite charming, telling them also made the mage’s face light up as if the Maker were indeed smiling on him.

When he described Justice’s initial insistence that keeping an animal as a pet was the same as slavery, Fenris couldn’t fight a smile. Perhaps he would indeed have got along with him. It was difficult to reconcile these stories with the violent creature he had seen when the mage lost control, all booming voice and mindless rage. From what Anders told him, Justice had once been a soft-spoken spirit who was trapped in a place he didn’t belong, dragged out of his realm and into a strange, decaying body by corrupted magic. Fenris would be lying if he said that didn’t at least a tiny bit resonate with him. Yet he didn’t like the way the happiness was slowly leeched from Anders’ face as he kept talking. About the way Justice had tried to respect the body he inhabited, had even tried to bring peace to those the soul once inside it had loved – and not been able to understand why this endeavour could only fail. About how he had been curious, caring – yes, harsh and unyielding too, but still, kind, and how his most treasured possession had been a ring made of lyrium, because its song reminded him of the home that had been ripped from him.

“Do I…does it…the lyrium in my skin, does it sing to him as well?” The thought of song, a _pleasant_ song, hidden in the hideousness that scarred him was bewildering.

There was a smile, but it held nothing of the happiness from before. The hollowness of it made Fenris ache in ways he could not quite place.

“Yes. I…can’t actually hear it myself, and Justice and I can’t really communicate, at least not as precisely as if we were having a conversation, but from what I gathered it is…different. It _is_ the song of the fade, but it has more…voices to it. Like a song that is usually only played by a single lute being performed by a whole orchestra. And changing moods. It seems to be part fade and part…you.”

“Part…me?”

“You…your emotions, your essence, whatever it is that makes you you…it seems to be engraved into the lyrium as much as the lyrium is engraved into you. It reflects you…”

Outwardly, Fenris huffed. Inside, he felt like he was being chafed down to the very core of his being. What Anders had described was, in equal amounts, the most beautiful and cruellest thing he could imagine. “How very kind of it. That sure offsets the agony it causes me.”

“It hurts? All the time? You never said anything. You should tell me things like that! I’m a _healer_. Maybe I can help.”

“The pain is not constant; it comes and goes. Had you ever asked, I would have told you. But I don’t see what you could have done to help. It cannot be removed.”

“No, but there might be ways to treat it, to help harmonize the way it interacts with your body…I will look into it. It’ll probably take a while to get the necessary books, but…I’ll do whatever I can, I promise. And next time it hurts, come see me. There are definitely ways to alleviate the pain, even if I don’t find a way to treat the source.” It seemed impossible, but he looked even sadder than before now, and his eyes drifted into the distance as he continued. “If I could still talk to Justice, or better yet have him here…Maybe he would be able to help. He had a connection to lyrium I can’t even begin to understand...” He sighed. “But then, I didn’t understand a bloody thing in the first place. Years of studying, and I still didn’t have slightest clue what it really meant for him to be trapped outside the fade…He was so confused by the human world around him. He began to see the beauty in it, after a while, but he never managed to adapt – how could he, a pure concept in a world littered with so many different contexts, where nothing is ever pure…And then all my anger on top of that…I thought I was helping him, but instead I destroyed him.”

_No, you did not. Yes, you did_. Was either of those true? None of them? Both of them? There was no way for Fenris to tell; he had not known the demon…spirit. Although from what little evidence Anders’ stories had given him, the harshness, the outrage, the unyielding insistence on the one, superior principle – it did not sound like anger was necessarily something _Anders_ had brought into the mix. Of course, that did not make his choice to offer himself as a host any less foolish – yet Fenris felt no desire to remind him of it. Not anymore. What would it accomplish, aside from adding to his gloom? It would only weaken his defences, and he needed to be strong. Instead of wanting to blame him, the elf found himself wishing he could make him stop blaming himself. Which he knew all too well was impossible. He had enough guilt of his own to remember that even the most sincere, benign words were covered in the ashen taste of pity.

“Did he eventually warm to your cat?”

“Wh…what?” Anders startled as if waking from a dream.

“Justice. You told me about their beginning, but not if there were any further interactions of note between them.”

While Anders relayed, amongst other things, the stories of Ser-Pounce-a-lot and the ethics of mice hunting and Ser-Pounce-a-lot and the strips of decaying host-flesh, Fenris relaxed into his chair, smiling. It worked. Slowly, but steadily, Anders’ face began to shine again, and that endearing energy found its way back into his voice. Halfway through his wine, a languid warmth settling over him, Fenris felt no desire to move anytime soon. And with the shadows finally fully banished from his face, reclined like Fenris, but with a mug of tea in lieu of wine and his face half-leaning against the cushioning, the mage reminded him, of all things, of cat dozing contently in the sunlight. A few lose strands of hair hung into his face, and Fenris had to fight the impulse to reach over and smooth them away. Instead, he cradled his bottle a little tighter in his hands, and listened with a smile as Anders tales grew more and more outlandish. It was good to hear him laugh again - and it was impossible not to laugh along as stories kept gently unfurling between them.

They had move on to doing impressions of the other members of their little group (The mage had the witch down to a point, while he in turn assured Fenris his Varric was _absolute perfection_ ), by the time Fenris realized that daylight was beginning to creep in through the windows. By the time Anders noticed, the room was already flooded in it. He let out a soft laugh, but finished his turn of the Hawke impression they were working on before he nodded in the direction of the window and said, “Looks like we talked the night away.”

“Perceptive as always,” Fenris replied, but there was more fondness to it than acerbity.

It was met with a sound yawn. “Well, that also means that it’s no longer _tonight_ ; your free pass on insults has expired.”

“Which is why I stuck to a mere observation.”

Between two more yawns, Anders once again stuck his tongue out at him.

There was no more food left to throw; the mage had been more than thorough, so Fenris simply stuck out his own tongue in return.

Not for the first time that night, he noticed that when the mage’s mouth curled upwards in that warm, soft-sloped fashion, his eyes seemed to move along.

“I…can’t believe I just saw that,” Anders’ faint chuckle was as gentle as his face. “I’d say this is indisputable proof that you need sleep. And so do I, I suppose.”

Fenris stifled a yawn of his own. There was no denying he was tired, and that he had better allow his body some rest – for all he knew, Hawke could show up in a frenzied need for assistance with yet another mess he had gotten himself into at any minute, and he would be of considerable less use if he could not keep his eyes open. Still, the thought of getting up, and of his mansion suddenly lying quiet again, deprived of the prior night’s vibrancy, was not at all appealing, But Anders wanted to leave, and he could hardly expect him to stay just because Fenris enjoyed his company. So he nodded.

“We should indeed rest.”

And with that, he got up and patiently waited for the mage to fold himself out of the chair and shake out his legs. He felt awkward leading him through the door and down the stairs, the more so since Anders assured him, with a little smirk, that he was perfectly capable of finding his way to the front door in bright daylight, “Not that I don’t appreciate you seeing me to the door in the proper, gentlemanly fashion.”

Having reached said door, Fenris told him, “You should not walk all the way on your own. I shall accompany you, so you get home safely.”

Anders’ smile was warm as he turned towards him, “I appreciate the thought, but it’s late enough for the stalls to be open; there’s hardly a risk of bandit attacks. And you look tired - I don’t want you to have to walk the whole way _twice_. I think we can waive etiquette this one time. I’ll be fine. Get some sleep, Fenris.”

Although he still didn’t like the thought of a sleep-deprived mage braving the city on his own, he had to concede that a very tired elf braving it twice, unaccompanied for half of the way, wasn’t particularly appealing either.

“You too, mage.”

“Thanks, elf.”

Maybe Fenris was just imagining things, tired as he was, but he thought he detected an unusual sharpness in the last word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenris was told he needed more practice writing poetry… which is absolutely NOT what the crumpled notes lying around are...
> 
> He has a niece arse, that much is true  
> \- tell him I said so, and it’s the last thing you do.


	8. Chapter 8

It was cold outside, and Anders was in a foul mood. His mood had already been foul in the Hanged Man, where they had met the others for a quick drink before heading for the playhouse, and it continued to rot with every passing minute…as it had for several days now. The mage was unlike himself. Or rather, a lot like another “himself”, the one Fenris had almost forgotten existed. But not quite that either. There were no attacks, no sneers. Tight-lipped and sullen, Anders was ignoring him almost completely, answering questions without any warmth and with as few words as possible. Fenris had stopped trying to read his face; it seemed all closed up. The mage hadn't met his eyes even once. It should not bother him. But there was no point in thinking about what should or shouldn’t be...it did. It hurt. As much as he didn’t like the thought of the mage having the power to hurt him, it seemed somewhere along the way, he had acquired it.

Fenris wasn't sure what to do. He could ignore him. Or snarl at him - it wasn't like they had no experience with that. But he didn't want to do either of those, didn't want it to be like...then, like _nothing_ , only emptiness between them, two scornful strangers. Hurt was better than that. But it was not enough. He wanted the mage’s smile back. His jokes. His stupid, lovely cat stories. The last days had seemed endless; Anders had been there, but without really being _there_. And Fenris had noticed, in an odd, unfamiliar way. Maybe he had…missed him. He was not sure – he had never really had anything to miss, or in any case no memories of such things, but there was a faint recognition of the feeling somewhere inside him. Maybe this other man - Leto - had known it. If so, he was not to be envied. It had rendered Fenris strangely hollow. Abandoned. And helpless. As helpless as he had once been. And sworn never to be again. He could not simply let this stand. He had a voice now. He would use it.

There were still a few people standing outside the playhouse, talking in small groups, but given the nibbling cold, most guests had ventured inside. Anders, too, headed straight (and once again, wordlessly) for the entrance, but Fenris stepped in front of him, blocking his path, and said in what he hoped was a neutral tone, “What is it, mage?”

“Whatever do you mean, Serrah elf?” Every word was underlined by an extravagant movement of his hands, head cocked to one side, fake astonishment in his voice. It should have been annoying, but compared to the utter indifference from before, sarcasm and haughtiness were almost a relief. A sign that Anders was still in there.

“You are being insufferable.”

“I am sorry you feel that way.” He was most definitely not sorry.

Fenris knew he had to stay calm, but he didn’t entirely manage to keep his voice free of irritation.

“Is _that_ your definition of ‘trying’?”

“I haven’t mentioned any forbidden, naughty, mage-y things, as far as I can recall. There has also been no Hawke-related bad blood. So yes, I’d say I’ve been a perfectly well-trained mage.” His voice still had that acid drip to it, but at least he was no longer avoiding Fenris’ eyes.

“What is it related to then?”

“Excuse me?”

“You said there was no Hawke-related bad blood. That implies there _is_ some other.”

“I don’t want to talk about it, _elf_.” Anders tried to sidestep him, and when that didn’t work, to push him out of the way, but Fenris stood his ground.

“Is there a reason you’re spitting that word at me? Didn’t you say you ‘weren’t like that’?”

“Says the one who still only refers to me as ‘mage’.”

“Not ‘only’,” Fenris frowned, trying to remember if that was true.

Anders let out a pointed snort, but as he continued, his voice grew more and more agitated, “I can count the number of times you have used my name on one hand. Even after we spent a _whole night_ talking at your _home_ , you just sent me off as ‘mage’. How in Blight’s name is that still all you see in me?”

“It is merely a habit. I mean nothing by it.”

“So I suppose people referring to you as ‘elf’ also mean ‘nothing by it’. What a perfect excuse.” The mage’s tone had gotten less agitated, yet in no way friendlier.

“It is the dwarf’s name for me. Have you ever heard me complain?”

“Hm-hm. So you would be perfectly alright with me starting to call you that as well?”

Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t he be?

“No.”

It made no sense, but if he was quite honest, he _wouldn’t_ be. He liked the way the mage said his name; he would not want to be reduced to “elf”. But he wasn’t calling Anders “mage” to make him less. Perhaps that had been part of the reason, once, yet with time it had turned into something else, more than just a description or even a name - a fond reminder of a distinction between him and others of his kind. They were mages. He was _mage_. But…Anders had no way of knowing that.

The mage nodded, “Thought so. Yet you have been happily using “mage” for years now.”

“That was inconsiderate. I apologize if I have offended you; it was not my intent,” Fenris conceded. He knew he should leave it at that, own that he had made a mistake and hope they would be able to move past this, but Anders’ look still held nothing but accusation, and Fenris couldn’t help his own temper flaring up, tides of old anger rising. “But _I_ did not upset you on purpose. You _meant_ to hurt me when you described me in terms like ‘wild dog’.”

“Well, you do make a remarkably good show of always sniffing at Hawke’s rear.”

If he hadn’t been so furious, Fenris would have laughed. It was just too obvious an attempt to derail him. Pathetic…almost as pathetic as the fact that it very nearly worked.

“Don’t try to make this about Hawke. That was never all this was about.”

“Oh, so you want to bring stuff back on the table? Fine!”

Anders stepped closer, voice rising again, everything about his posture issuing a challenge, and before Fenris had time to think instinct kicked in and he snapped, “Fine indeed.”

For a long moment, only a few inches between their faces, all they did was glare at each other. Inwardly, Fenris cursed himself for having let it go this far. He had wanted to fix things – this might very well break them beyond repair. And there was no turning back. Perhaps there had never been; perhaps Anders had wanted this. He seemed all out of smiles, and Fenris couldn’t bring them back. All he could do was try to stay calm. If they managed to talk instead of yell, maybe, _maybe_ …He took a deep breath, trying to erase all trace of attack from his voice. Then he nodded, “Continue.”

Maybe it was just what he wished to see, but it looked like the mage was trying to calm himself as well – he wasn’t shouting anymore. “I don’t actually see why you think you have a right to complain about anything here - the first thing you ever said to me was that I was a ‘viper in your midst’. At least I named you after the more popular animal.” Control the volume all he might, the haughty bitterness was still perfectly in place.

“ _That_ is your explanation? That I said _one_ thing _one_ time?”

“ _One time_? I suppose the day you so charmingly joined the Knight-Captain in his delightful deceleration that mages ‘aren’t people like the rest of us’ simply slipped your mind…No wonder, really, since to you half the people present weren’t _actually_ people.”

“I…didn’t…you…”

“Wow, stammering…I’d almost be tempted to believe you actually feel sorry for that one. Almost.” Anders’ voice hit Fenris like a frost spell.

“Regardless of how I may feel about it now - I said these things when I hardly knew you, did not know any mages except for the ones that…owned me. Yet you kept attacking me for years. You never gave me a chance to…”

“I tried to make you understand. For so long!” the mage exclaimed, gesticulating wildly. “Why do you think I’ve always tried hardest to convince _you_? I always knew there was no point in bothering with Aveline or Sebastian, but you…I feel like you _should_ understand, yet you just refuse to even try.”

“How exactly have you ‘tried’? By insulting me?”

“Well, alright, my social skills may be a bit rusty; but…”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

Anders huffed, “You’re one to talk.”

“I was trained to obey, not socialize.”

“Well, you seem to have overcome that first part pretty well; how about you start on the second now.”

“You wish for me to obey you, like all the other mages before you, is that it?” A part of him cringed at the allegation, but his voice hissed it out anyway.

The answer was clad in a frustrated sigh. “No, Fenris, I want you to _listen_ to me, really _listen_ , not just dismiss me, not call me a demon, listen and realize that I’m a _person_ – and treat me as such.”

“I always have.”

“Oh yes, you’ve been all ears every time I opened my mouth, I see…”

“No. But I have always treated you like a person. A courtesy _you_ have often failed to show me, I might add.” There was an awkward pause. Forcing a little smirk, he continued, “I am not denying that you are a person…you just happen to be a very annoying one.”

Anders paused as well, the hint of a smile on his face. “Again, you’re one to talk…But back then, at the Gallows, you said…”

“I did not agree with everything that was said, only that _people_ like you cannot be allowed the same freedoms as others. I should not have expressed my agreement so indiscriminately. I knew it would be painful to hear.”

“Somehow I doubt my feelings were of much importance to you.” It was snorted out joylessly

“They were not, back then. But Bethany was...”

“So…you care about them now?” Anders interrupted him. Bottom lip between his teeth, eyes only slightly glancing at Fenris’, he suddenly looked so much younger.

“Yes. And I no longer think you are a viper ready to strike. You may be dangerous, but you bear no ill intent.”

“So you do think I am a person; you just think I am also dangerous and should not be free.”

A challenge should not sound so vulnerable. And the mage shouldn’t look so small. Fenris struggled to find words. “I…mages cannot be allowed freedom. You…I do not wish to see you locked up.”

“They would not lock me up, Fenris. I harbour a spirit, remember? They would just execute me without ceremony.”

Fenris hands curled into fists so tightly it hurt, his throat closed up and bobbed in a manner entirely beyond his control. It was a struggle to gather enough air to grit out, “I will not allow it.”

For several moments, Anders merely looked at him. Then he sighed, “I don’t understand you, Fenris; I just don’t get it. ‘Freedom is a noble ideal, but…’ – that is what you said, you, the one person who fought for his freedom as much, or yes, even more, than I did. Who kills every slaver he lays eyes on to ensure others remain free as well. How can _you_ possibly allow any ‘buts’ when it comes to _freedom_? I know you’ve suffered at the hands of mages, but the mages here aren’t like the ones in Tevinter. They are as powerless as you once were - you saw what Ser Alrik did. Don’t pretend you don’t know what he was doing; I saw the look on your face. You’ve seen the Tranquil, heard the floggings, witnessed people being ripped away from their families, just like you were, even if you don’t remember them and your sister was kind of a bitch…I don’t understand how you can support that. I just don’t understand.”

It was unlike his usual rants. His tone calm, almost quiet, no anger in his face, just…sadness. It hurt Fenris to see it.

“Neither do I.”

That was as honest as he could be. It wasn’t that Anders words made no sense at all - but he could not _feel_ them. Tevinter. Everything mages had done to him…And even here, the blood mages that littered their path, waiting to infest these lands as well, the corruption they spread…Yes, they might be acting out of fear…but if there was nothing to be afraid of, they might just as quickly commit the same atrocities out of greed, or rage. He would never not fear them. He would never be able to sleep with both eyes closed in a world where mages were allowed to roam freely, always only one weak moment away from a demon taking over. Anders was making sense – but when had sense ever been enough to keep people safe?

“But that is how it is,” Anders said, a mere statement, quiet defeat in its simplicity.

“Yes.” Fenris took a deep breath. “But know that you are safe. I will not betray you. Any Templar that tries to take you will have to go through me.”

“Why? After all, you should fear me even more than most other mages…

“I am not saying you are an ‘abomination that would never harm anyone’,” neither of them could help smile at the memory, though there was little joy in it. “But you have capable people around you who know about your…circumstances. Your friends…we…can help you stay in control. Or stop you, should it become necessary.”

“So you won’t turn me in, but you might kill me,” Anders said with a hapless smile.

“If it becomes necessary, yes. But it would bring me no joy to do so.”

“If I didn’t feel like we have very different ideas of what ‘necessary’ entails, I might even be grateful for that.”

“If your spirit takes control and cannot be brought to retreat. If there is no other way to stop it from harming innocents. Then, and only then. Only if everything else has failed.”

All the mage did was nod, and silence settled between them.

_Could I do it even then? Would I truly be able to cut him down?_ For all the confidence he’d displayed, Fenris was disturbingly uncertain.

“Alright, let’s go watch a terrible performance,” Anders startled him out of his thoughts.

“What?”

“We came here to watch a play, didn’t we? And by now, it has probably already started, so we should hurry.”

“You…still wish to spend the evening with me?” It was hard to believe after the conversation they had just had.

“Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No. I am relieved.”

Something close to a smile briefly took residence on Anders’ face. “You care about my feelings. You’re even willing to help me stay free. Honestly, that’s more than I ever dared to hope for already. And as for the rest…,” he sighed, “I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree.”

Fenris nodded firmly. “I can do that.”

“Good.” He paused. “Although I can't promise I'll always manage to hold back…”

Fenris smiled. “I am aware of that…Anders. And I will tolerate the occasional rant.” His smile grew into a grin. “Make it occasional enough, and I will even try to pay attention.”

There was something slightly teary to the way Anders smiled back. “Now that is definitely an incentive to restrain myself.”

“I promise nothing. But I will try.”

“Thank you. And I will try as well.”

Fenris gave a final nod and stepped out of Anders’ path, letting him lead the way to the entrance. The mage had likely been right about the performance already having started; they were the only people still left outside. Yet instead of hurrying, Anders stopped right in front of the door and turned towards him.

"I forgot to say, I’m sorry."

"For?"

"The names I used to call you, the things I said about you...You weren't entirely wrong about the way I've been treating you..." He kept his eyes on the floor, and his voice quiet.

“I was in fact completely right,” Fenris smirked, “but I am aware that using these words is beyond you."

"Oh shut up," Anders muttered, still not meeting his eyes.

"Am I...not utterly off in my assessment?"

"Yes, yes, you were right. Happy now?"

"I am indeed pleased, thank you." He smiled "And that you apologized did not go unnoticed.”

"Good. Because I really am sorry. Some of what I said was...honestly unforgiveable."

"I have forgiven it, so it was not."

Finally, the mage looked at him, his smile so radiant just looking at it seemed to chase away the cold. "Really?"

"Yes. But try not to do it again…I shall watch myself more closely as well. Not all of your transgressions were unprovoked."

"Is that your way of saying that you can sometimes be a giant prick?"

There didn’t seem to be any part of Anders that wasn’t grinning, yet Fenris didn’t mind...it meant the mage was back. They had made it through. Fenris had not destroyed everything, and Anders had cared enough to try. He was even willing to accept Fenris’…limitations. And his smile was back…He could tease as much as he liked, for all Fenris cared. So he nodded.

"That is an accurate interpretation."

“You’re cute when you’re yielding,” Anders said, still grinning all over.

Fenris deemed it time to remind him of the rest of this little discussion, and grinned back just as widely, “So are you.”

Anders turned and opened the door, but Fenris still caught the rather profound rush of crimson that was rapidly chasing the grin off the mage’s face. That only served to widen his own grin.

  

Going by their previous experiences, it was probably safe to assume the performance was indeed terrible, but Fenris was no reliable source of judgement – he found it impossible to pay attention, his mind insisting on going back to the things Anders had said. The mage was so sure he was right, so stubborn; no matter what Fenris said, he would not be able to convince him otherwise. Anders would never change. That was nothing new; Fenris had always known that. What was new was that he was no longer certain this was a bad thing…and if he was quite honest, he could hardly claim to be anything less than his equal when it came to obstinacy. Anders would never convince _him_ either, even if he had to admit that some of the things he said were true. Or at least had to seem true from his side of the problem.

He had not chosen to be a mage any more than Fenris had chosen to be a slave _. I didn’t ask for this_. Bethany had been right when she’d reminded him of that. Mages had as little choice in their powers being bestowed upon them as Fenris had had when it came to poison being sealed into his skin – less so, if his sister was to be believed. Of course, their lack of freedom seemed unfair to them. In many ways, it _was_ unfair. But…so was the amount of power they wielded. No, they had not asked for it, yet that a flame hasn't asked for the potential to burn your home to the ground doesn't mean you do not contain it. Anders words were sounding in his ears, and although he didn’t like it, Fenris had to admit the comparison was flawed – fire did not feel pain. Or fear.

Mages were walking potentials of destruction, but they were also _people_ …And they were not to blame. At least some of them weren't. No one who had seen Tevinter could be foolish enough to think of them all as well-intentioned innocents, no matter the mage’s clueless notions. Still, looking at Anders...some of them didn't want power, only freedom, a place for themselves, a home, love… Of course, he was a poor example, considering the foolish path he had chosen - opening himself to a...spirit of all things, what better way to prove all fears of his kind true - and yet...he had every right to want these things, as disturbing as it was to admit that.

What was even more disturbing to admit - Fenris wanted him to have them. There was a small, aching spot inside him that was better left alone, for it wished there was a way Fenris could give them to him. Or could at least protect what little of those he had managed to obtain for himself. Fenris remembered sleeping in a sitting position, a hand on his sword for fear of slavers bursting into his mansion while he had his guard down. Was it the same for Anders, knowing that at any moment, the Templars could kick down his door?

He had meant it when he had said he would not let them take him. Mages could not simply be let lose into the world, as unfair as it must seem to them, but this mage would stay free. Was this hypocrisy? Perhaps. Then again, Fenris would guard him - not as his jailor, but as his protector, as his...friend. Anders would not harm anyone. And no one would dare harm him.

Jailors…was that really what Templars were? Their duty was to guard and protect mages, yet…Fenris _had_ recognised what that Ser Alrik had been doing. It had been the one time he had not felt the slightest objection to killing a Templar. He had thought of him as the exception, but from what the mage had said - the little he had said, since Fenris had forbidden him to say more…. _I can't promise I'll always manage to hold back…_ Perhaps it was time to stop asking him to do so.

He could of course not allow Anders to keep trying to convince him - it would be cruel to let him try when Fenris already knew the outcome. He would never agree with the changes the mage aspired to, but perhaps it was possible for him to understand _why_ the mage wanted them… And the mage was so desperate for him to understand. Letting him talk about his past, share something of himself - that was something a friend should offer him. It was only right. After all, that was what Hawke had done for Fenris. He had listened to his stories, the painful, the horrid, the dark and the guilty ones, without judgement, without ever turning away. Fenris wanted to do the same for Anders, listen to his experiences, bear part of their weight for him. And maybe, just maybe, Fenris _wanted_ to know his stories. If Anders was willing to give them to someone besides Hawke. To him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> His choice of clothing leans towards the absurd,  
> He lashes out blindly when he feels hurt,


	9. Chapter 9

A juggler was standing at the front of the small stage, keeping various objects afloat with enviable ease – and enviable stoicism, considering the fact that very few of the guests were even looking in her direction, much less actively watching the performance. Poets, puppeteers, dancers, a handful of Orlesian bards delivering songs or tales – none of them had managed to capture the room’s attention, though some (like the bards’ “witty musings and anecdotes”) had fared slightly better than others.

It was hardly surprising – with the guests scattered across more than two dozen little tables, enough space between them to grant privacy (or at least the illusion thereof), and a battalion of servers scurrying around, making sure plates and glasses were never left empty for long, there were simply too many distractions. “Dinner and a show”, the invitation had said, but as it turned out, the night’s real attraction was the food. 

As frustrating as it had to be for the performers, Fenris felt rather comfortable. The table they had chosen only had room for two, and stood in the far corner of the room, somewhat detached from the other guests - their own little world amidst all the noise, the onslaught of voices rippling through the room blurring into a soothing murmur. The dim candlelight cast soft shadows on the mage’s face, and the fragrance of the flowers that had been placed on the tables, as well as on shelves along the walls, created the impression of a garden rather than of a Hightown dining hall.

They were on their – Fenris had lost count of the number of “dates” Hawke had sent them on. It was looking to be a pleasant one. Excellent food and drink (there had been free choice as to where to sit, menus to choose from, and the servers seemed to just head to whichever table they were needed at first, which made it unlikely anyone would tamper with their food – or even know whose food it was), the other guests too far away to bother them, and plenty of time to talk with the smiling mage across from him. Well, at least between courses, when Anders wasn’t busy chewing as much as his mouth could hold. Once again, he was devouring everything that was placed in front of him within little more than seconds.

“Have you gone without food again? I gave you coin just last week.”

After swallowing at least some of the near-plateful he had in his mouth, Anders replied, “If by ‘give’ you mean swept into my clinic like a mist of doom, slammed a small fortune on my table, calmly threatened bodily harm if I didn’t ‘swallow my foolish pride and put it to good use’ and left before I had a chance to utter a single word, then yes, you did.”

“And yet here you are, famished again.”

“Well,” Anders grinned, “I’ll have you know, while there are some things I _do_ swallow, my pride is not one of them…And you are a lot less threatening now that I know you only slap on all that spiky icing to hide the tender elf cake inside.”

On a not entirely unrelated note, dessert had just been placed in front of them.

“Unlike that pie you are leering at so lewdly I am surprised it isn’t trying to cover itself, _I_ am capable of stabbing you with a fork.”

While he certainly could, he never would, and by now, Anders probably knew that just as well as he did. Still, there was nothing to be said against the occasional growl for good measure. Their bickering might have lost its venom, but they were still good at it…And now that Anders’ teasing really was just that – teasing – Fenris actually _enjoyed_ going along with some playful fighting. It made him feel…vibrant. Free. _Present_. What made it even better –Anders seemed to appreciate it just as much.

“Oh yes? You and what fork?” was the only reply – and warning – he got before the mage snatched up the fork in question (along with his knife, for he was smart, and spoon, for he apparently had a disturbingly vivid imagination), shot up and placed them next to the flowers on the shelf – way out of Fenris’ reach; the shelves had been attached so high up the wall even Anders had to stand on tip toes. He sat back down with pure triumph on his face. Of course, Fenris could easily have wrestled Anders’ own fork from his hands – but not without hurting him, and that was something Fenris didn’t even want to think of doing. Thus he let the mage have his victory.

“You have achieved the impossible feat of forcing me to eat with my hands. Songs will be sung about this glorious day.” Remembering who he was talking to, he narrowed his eyes, “Or was this an attempt to steal my cake along with my cutlery?”

“Well, if you don’t want it…”

“Not a chance.”

He had happily given the mage half of his meat, soup – and pretty much every other course – but not even an army of demons would stand a chance at taking his dessert from him. Anders, who knew his sweet tooth well enough, didn’t seem surprised.

“In that case, your hands will have to do – _or_ you could ask me really nicely to fetch it for you …Since, you know, _I_ am tall enough to actually reach it,” Anders smile was the perfection of sweetness. “Though you are rather tall for an elf – not that all elves are….sorry, I sounded like an arse again, didn’t I…” he finished with that crumpled grin that Fenris had learned meant he was, in fact, sorry.

“’Again’ implies there are times when you do not.” He had also learned that insulting Anders a little in return tended to make things lighter. At least so long as it was followed by some kind of reassurance. “And while we are far from all being the same, elves _do_ tend to be on the shorter side…Though not in… _all_ …places…” he added with a smirk.

“Alright, _now_ I’m intrigued…”

“And I am still without a fork.”

“Not exactly ‘asking nicely’, but by your standards…it’ll do,” Anders said as he got up and retrieved Fenris’ cutlery. “There you go, because _I_ am really nice…and alsotaller.”

“In some places,” Fenris smiled back with the same sugary-fake sweetness the mage so often displayed when teasing. “At least you have your uses…and tall men are nice to look at.”

“Wh…what?” Compared to the flagrant innuendos Anders liked to throw around, this had been a harmless remark – and yet it had the mage flushed and fidgeting. That wasn’t easily achieved, and seeing him like this always sent a strange rush through Fenris. Still, he tried to keep his tone light as he continued, “The same goes for women. Hawke is tall as well…that was in fact one of the first things I noticed when we all met – two tall, handsome men, standing at the foot of the stairs to the alienage…”

There was a moment of silence before the mage cleared his throat. “Ahem…well…Aveline was with us that night, and she’s not exactly short either…Are you saying she isn’t beautiful?” His tone was slightly teasing again; but he still seemed a little flustered.

“She certainly is. But before you get to know her, she comes across as very stern. That is not what attracts me.”

“Hmmm, then I guess I’d better not tell you what kind of a first (and second – 100th as well, if we’re being thorough) impression _you_ make,” Anders said, winking at him.

“Well, I am not attracted to myself,” Fenris shrugged.

“But I bet you do _attend_ to yourself…”

The mage had found his grin again and plastered it all over his face, while Fenris was now the one tinted red. A part of him tried to flee into outrage, _Private! How dare he_ …, the rest was determined not to let the mage throw him and win…whatever it was they were doing.

“That sort of behaviour is not encouraged in slaves. So, no, not regularly, or without difficulty.” He forced himself to look at Anders as he spoke. Harder still, he forced himself to keep holding his gaze after he had finished, to make this a challenge rather than an admission.

There it was, that dreadful flicker, unmistakable in the mage’s eyes. _Pity_. Fenris wanted nothing to do with it, sticky, diminishing, treacherous syrup that never came off, covering everything else you were, leaving only a helpless waif people stooped to pet…But it turned out Anders knew better than to let it guide his response. The cursed flicker left his eyes, and his mouth curved back into a wide grin.

“Well, you are a free man now…And should you need an incentive, feel free to imagine ravishing my tall, handsome frame.”

Fenris felt his chest warm with gratitude. The mage was making it easy for him, allowing him to be playful, to be here…to be _more_. He returned the grin.

“Thank you. I will.”

Anders’ reply was more groaned than grinned. “Fenris, Maker please, I know we keep joking these events Hawke sends us on are dates, but if you don’t stop saying things like that, I may very soon have no choice but to take you home and fuck you senseless.”

“In that case I request a more precise definition of ‘things like that’, so I can make an informed decision whether or not I want to keep saying them.”

For a moment, all the mage did was stare at him. Then he sighed, “It’s a little scary that I can’t figure out if you’re joking…even scarier that I’m not sure if I want you to be…”

Fenris did not know either. Or rather, he knew that he was…and wasn’t. He couldn’t have said _when_ , but at some point it had stopped being merely ‘joking’. There was something else to it, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what exactly it was he was doing…Something about this, about them, felt different. There was still the odd moment of resentment, or bitterness, but most of the times, it was something else entirely, a quiet peace between them, their friction not suddenly gone, yet somehow merely creating warmth these days, not raging firestorms. But there was also a…crackle. Sparks in the gentle flames. Things were lighter – and much heavier at the same time. Loaded. Anders’ eyes were still intent on his face; he was quiet, waiting for Fenris to reply. And for all Fenris didn’t know, one thing he knew with a certainty he had never possessed before – he could not stand the thought of living without this. So he shrugged.

“You have never been good at figuring things out. Why start now?”

“Well, they say acquiring new skills keeps you young…”

“Then I shall await the fruits of your efforts with bated breath, mage…Anders. I apologise. It was not on purpose.”

Strangely, Anders’ smile hadn’t lost its warmth. “Tell me honestly, Fenris - is it really just a nickname?”

“Yes. There is no hidden insult in it.”

“But…it does have negative connotations, doesn’t it?”

“No. I suppose it did, in the beginning, but it lost it long before we…became friendly. It is no different than calling Varric ‘dwarf’. Still, it upsets you; so I shall keep trying to shake that habit.”

“It’s alright, Fenris. If it’s truly just a name, I don’t mind.”

Fenris’ lips twitched in amusement. “That is hard to believe, given the way you yelled at me for it.”

“It wasn’t just about that…and it’s actually quite nice when you say it in a friendly way… Even nicer when you get flirty,” Anders finished with a wink.

“I shall try to explicitly include it in my flirtations then, Anders.”

“I won’t lie, that sounds nice too…So…there will be more flirtations then?”

“It could happen.”

“Well,” the mage’s eyes left Fenris and turned to the plate in front of him, “in case you favour action over words…you still haven’t touched your cake…maybe you don’t want it that much after all…”

Fenris couldn’t help but smile. Of course, if there was one person more capable of getting his way than an army of demons, it would be the mage. And all he needed were his grin and that twinkle in his eyes. “I suppose I should fatten you up so my ravishing thoughts don’t break your brittle mage bones. I will cede half of it. Not a crumb more.”

“I’ll show you brittle!” the mage threatened, as much as he could with his fork already full of food and halfway to his mouth.

Figuring eating it - _quickly_ \- was the best way to protect his half of the cake from Anders’ ever-hovering fork, Fenris got to work as well.

“You are more likely to demonstrate choking.”

“Warden appetite, remember? I can’t help it.”

Fenris thought of the pie he still had in his kitchen – along with the weird-tasting smoked ham Anders liked so much….Maybe they should leave for his mansion once they had finished dessert. There were admittedly no performances to be witnessed there, but perhaps he could persuade the mage to sing to him again – for real, this time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and hurt he feels quickly, but he need not fear,  
> there is no danger I will ever let near.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another slightly longer one...Next chapter is pretty much ready (because, well, I wrote it while I was putting off finally finishing this one...). It still needs a bit of editing, but it should be up some time between tomorrow and Thursday

Fenris stepped onto the balcony. As he had expected, the mage was already waiting for him. It wasn’t exactly an arrangement, since they had never spoken about it, yet over the past couple of months, whenever Hawke had dragged the whole group along to a party (which there seemed to be an endless supply of), they had both found themselves out on a balcony together sooner or later. Well, at first it had been later, after Anders had had sufficient time to put on a little show for the other guests, but now it tended to be sooner, with both of them avoiding the festivities more or less right away. Similarly, in the beginning, Fenris tended to be the one to withdraw first, when he simply needed a break from the clamour around him, and Anders joined him maybe an hour later, now the mage was usually already waiting when Fenris arrived on what he had come to think of as “their” balcony – a bit misleading, considering they rarely went to the same estate twice, but since pretty much all of Hightown seemed to have been built with the same floorplan in mind, it did feel like it was the same one every time.

It was, however, not the one where Anders had given him the Agreggio. That one had been perfectly suited for watching the party – and had allowed for being watched in the same measure. Sooner than they would have liked (any time would have been too soon, really), other guests had joined them outside. After Isabela’s hostile takeover of his second bottle of wine and Merrill’s giggling and consternation at the accompanying noblewomen’s exclaims of “You’re Dalish! That is so exotic. You must tell me where you got those facial ornaments. They look so natural.” Fenris had fled back inside, with Anders following not far behind.

Their new refuge overlooked the gardens, not the streets, and was only half the size of the first one. Its access lay neatly sequestered in a corner of the large ballroom. There wasn’t much to be seen from it – though still enough noise to be heard – and most guests didn’t even register its existence, too busy making sure they were seen to notice. The mage had, however - technically, it had been his discovery, for the first time he had escaped there, Fenris had been surprised to find Anders sitting cross-legged on the floor, taking a nap against the balustrade.

Startled awake by Fenris’ arrival, Anders blinked in confusion, then laughed softly, “We seem to be going for the same escape routes.”

“So it would seem.” Feeling a little lost, Fenris added, “You are looking to rest. I will leave you to it.”

“I don’t mind you staying,” Anders patted the floor beside him. “You can nudge me awake when the party’s over, so I’m not the only one left behind…that would be awkward.”

“You trust me to do that, do you?” Fenris asked with a smirk, even as he sat down next to the mage.

“Well, what can I say, I like to live dangerously.”

There had been no wine that time, and there hadn’t been much talking either - Anders kept dozing off, his trust in Fenris’ nudging abilities ultimately well placed – but the silence had been enjoyable as well.

This time, there was wine. Fenris had pilfered the bottle himself – if people insisted on mistaking him for a servant, he could just as well make use of the easy access it granted him. No one bothered to look twice when he picked up a tray. He had even found something for the mage.

“Here. This is a particularly weak one. Justice should be able to tolerate it.”

Anders took the bottle of cider with a warm smile. “Thank you. That was…very thoughtful of you. And I am thirsty.”

His voice was as warm as his smile, and Fenris realized that his efforts to phrase the statement in a neutral way - in particular through lack of the term “demon” - had not gone unnoticed. Using the spirit’s name was a courtesy he would not have bothered with in the past, and it wasn’t solely due to their truce…friendship…or what Anders had told him about Justice – while Fenris no longer quite believed the creature was a demon, he was not so foolish as to think that made the threat it posed to Anders any less real. And that was what truly mattered… Yet although he still didn’t shy from the occasional argument with the mage, this was a topic over which no “argument” was to be had - what could he have said? _I sometimes wake from horrid dreams in which your spirit takes you over for good, and I am left to drink out here on my own_? It would not change the facts. Their merger could not be undone. Only time would tell if the mage was strong enough to uphold it.

He _had_ to be.

“You’re in a grumpy mood today,” Anders observed as Fenris dropped down next to him.

“I am in fact perfectly content at the moment. If a little distracted.”

“’Perfectly content and a little distracted’. Title of…well, not _my_ autobiography – or yours, for that matter – but someone’s, surely.”

“The witch or Hawke spring to mind.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Well, let’s drink to our enviably content associates.”

 

And drink they did. And talk. And laugh. Leaning against the bannister, they weren’t actually that far removed from the crowd, but they might as well have been on the other side of the Veil for how detached Fenris felt from the noisy world inside. Outside with Anders, things were…slower. The mage was right next to him; Fenris could feel the warmth radiating of his body, smell the cider on his breath, tangy and sweet. Smiling and a little drink-flushed, he looked relaxed…perfectly content. Fenris certainly had no wish to disturb his peace, so he was as surprised as Anders when he suddenly heard himself say:

“Tell me about the Circle.”

“I…what? That is off-the-table stuff…We’ve seen what happens when we bring that up.”

“Funny, I thought we managed rather well last time. And I was merely asking for details about your day-to-day life. There will be no argument, for I will not comment. I simply want to know more about you.”

“Well…what kind of details did you have in mind? It’s not like I have an all-encompassing speech prepared…”

“You do not?”

“Smugness isn’t…alright, actually it’s a really hot look on you…”

“If you are trying to distract me, you are not trying hard enough.”

Anders sighed dramatically. “Have I so soon lost all my charms? But alright, if you really want to know…I guess I’ll just…start at the beginning…tell you a few basic things. And if there’s anything you want to know more about, you ask.”

Fenris nodded.

“So…the beginning. I was taken to the Circle when I was twelve. My magic manifested relatively late, most children are about half that age when they are brought there…”

“How did they catch you?”

“They didn’t. I was handed to them on a silver platter. My father called for them. I’d had no idea I even _had_ magic…and the first thing that happened when it showed itself was that I set my family’s barn on fire. It was an accident, of course, but my father immediately locked me away, wouldn’t even look at me anymore. I spent days crying before the Templars arrived – and I cried even more when they took me with them. I fought; I screamed; I grabbed on to everything within my reach…I begged my father not to do this to me…What’s that look on your face?”

“That is merely my face.”

“Nope, seen your face; _that_ is something else. And I want to know what it is.”

Fenris sighed. “I suppose that is me trying…not to point out that accidents like the barn only prove mages need to learn to master their abilities. I promised I would not comment.” He looked at his feet. “And with all the pain it caused you…it does feel cruel to bring it up. I apologize.”

Anders sighed, “I _did_ insist. And for the record, I have never denied we need training. Of course we do – but why should we have to be locked away for it? Not to mention that we remain locked up for life, long after our training is completed. And think of Bethany…she was taught by her father, and you said it yourself - she was everything but weak. That we need to learn how to control our magic doesn’t justify the Circles, or Templars; I’m sorry, it just doesn’t…”

“You are right.”

“And…I am what?”

“There are several other aspects on which your argument has no bearing, but on this, you are right.”

“So…”

“Do not ask me about those other aspects, or we will never get back to your story…We already agreed to disagree.”

Anders’ eyes gleamed in the dim light as he smiled. “True. But you have to cut me some slack here - you did sort of neglect to fulfil your disagreement part there. It’s no wonder I’m confused…”

“I shall try not to repeat that mistake.”

“Well, I would be willing to forgive you if you did…”

“There has never been a soul more generous than yours. Now, continue.”

The mage’s face darkened. “Like I said, they took me away. My mother cried as much as I did, but my father only told me I wasn’t his son anymore, I was a monster he wanted nothing to do with. You’d think that would have been sufficient to make me understand I had no home to return to, that it was gone for good, but I was just a child. I was terrified. I missed my parents. _Home_ was everything left to cling on to. And I did. Those first weeks in the Circle…honestly, I cannot tell you much about them. I hardly noticed my surroundings, didn’t speak to anyone; I just pictured _home_ and tried to imagine I was still there. And no one paid me much attention. The other apprentices tried to get me to tell them my name a few times and when I didn’t, I just became “the Ander”, the weird child that was born in the Anderfels….”

“Anders is…not your name?” Fenris had never heard of this.

“It is now. It has been for so long…the one I had before has become so distant a memory, I’m not even sure it was ever real anymore.”

“But did the Templars not know it? They must have asked your parents when they fetched you.”

“Maybe they did and just didn’t bother to correct the other mages. Or maybe the thought of asking for it never even crossed their mind - I wasn’t a child to them, not really, just one more mage to cross off their list. Either way, who cares about a monster’s name, right?”

“You there” followed by a command…for most slaves, that was all they were to their masters. Hardly anyone even bothered with their name, much less gave them a new one – unless you were a prized experiment, of course…Yet Fenris bit his tongue. Not now. Perhaps one day, they could discuss this, but not like this. Not when the mage would interpret is as a way of trying to diminish his pain. For now, a lighter path was the better choice. And the story did remind him of something else. He couldn’t help smirking a little when he asked, “So…you scolded me for not calling you by your name although…that isn’t actually your name?”

“It is my name, as much as Fenris is yours.”

“Point taken.” And he did see his point. Whoever “Leto” had been – it wasn’t who Fenris was now. And although he was still curious what the mage had once been called, he was reluctant to ask. There might be a reason Anders hadn’t volunteered his old name, and it wasn’t important enough to risk upsetting him. “I take it you didn’t manage to stay silent for your whole stay?”

It wasn’t the most radiant one, but at least it was a smile. “Whatever makes you think that, I wonder?”

“It was just a hunch.”

“Yes, after a while, I did start talking. But that didn’t make me hate the Circle any less…call it what you like, it was a prison, in a giant tower - and as if that wasn’t bad enough already, they built it in the middle of a giant bloody lake. Nothing but hard, greyish stone whichever way you looked. There was no privacy - the apprentices slept in these huge dorms that didn’t even have doors, just open archways. There were always people around you, not to mention that the Templars could ‘check in’ at any maker-forsaken time of day. Or night. And it was cold, always so cold. Another cruel irony of the place – the windows were placed so high up the walls that you could never catch a glimpse of the world outside through them, yet they always let in the cold. There was this constant draft, and the faint sound of wind seeping through. It felt like even the air was keeping watch on you. And they never let us outside. I grew up on a farm; I was outdoors pretty much all of the time – I felt like I was slowly going insane. I missed my mother. There is no such thing as ‘family’ in the Circle. You have your jailors, and you have your teachers, who are prisoners as much as you are, and more concerned with not angering the jailors than with taking care of you. I knew I had to get out…and roughly six months after I got there, I ran away for the first time. I wanted to go home. Of course, I never made it there, not then or ever again. They caught me pretty much instantly, dragged me back…”

“The first time? How many times did you run away?”

“Seven. Do you want to hear about all the cunning plans I came up with?”

“I do. But first, tell me a bit more about your day-to-day life there.”

And Anders did, though throughout his recollections, darkness once again took over his face. Asking him to save the accounts of his escapes for later had been the right choice – nothing brought back his grin like memories of outwitting Templars. And he _had_ come up with some impressive plans (as well as a few that were entirely foolhardy, although still admirable in their determination), even if none of them had proven successful in the long-term. For, as Fenris learned, Templars had means of tracing their charges. Practical means, which were certainly necessary to ensure mages couldn’t just flee and wreak havoc among innocent people, but there was an element of ownership to them that still made Fenris recoil a little. _They use their_ blood _to control them._

“If it weren’t for my bloody phylactery, I would have been free at least a decade sooner,” Anders groused.

“From what you told me, an un-bloody phylactery would indeed be an advantage. So it took more than a decade to truly escape?”

“Eighteen years.”

“That long?”

“I’ll just take that surprise as a sign that my age isn’t showing yet. So, thank you,” the mage winked at him, but it felt just as forced as his smile.

“For someone of your…determination, I would have expected more than seven attempts in that many years.”

“There was sort of a break in between, several years during which I…stopped trying.”

“They made you give up?” Venhedis, hopefully the mage wouldn’t take that as an insult. It had merely been surprise…But Anders didn’t even appear to have registered his tone; he seemed far away…in a place of pain, by the look of it.

“Not so much give up as…they had unwittingly given me a…home. In a way. And as long as I had that, I felt less need to leave.

“What happened?” Fenris asked, quietly, almost certain the mage would refuse to elaborate. He looked close to tears. Or worse, like there were no tears left but the need to cry still hadn’t subsided. The hollowness of his eyes cut through Fenris, brushing memories that were better left buried. There were things that could not be talked about and if Anders felt this was one, he wouldn’t push further.

But Anders answered his question.

“I met someone. Karl. You met him too, once, though only briefly. He was another apprentice, a little older than me, which was why it took a few years before we…noticed each other. He became my home. And he died by my hand.” The last part was little more than a whisper.

Suddenly, Fenris found it hard to swallow. “I remember him. You said he was a friend. You did not say he was…”

It hurt. It hurt for the pain on Anders’ face, for what had been taken from him. And he also felt another hurt, one he had no right to. Just like he had no right to the anger he felt. _Why didn’t you tell me?_

“Not to you. Or anyone, actually, except Hawke. Back then it was…too much to bare to people I didn’t trust.”

Fenris was aware of the bitterness in his voice, but he could not help himself. “But you did trust Hawke, who you had met…how many hours before?”

“Maybe ‘trust’ is the wrong word, but…he helped me, right away, didn’t even try to negotiate - ‘Ah, sure, we shouldn’t have Circles in the first place; we’ll get your friend out, don’t worry.’ And then when he learned about Justice, he didn’t condemn me, just cracked a few jokes and said if I needed his help with anything, I only had to ask. I mean, who does that? Having someone support me so…effortlessly – I couldn’t believe it. I’d never had anything like that. I guess that’s why I told him about Karl right away. I wanted to hold on to Hawke’s support in any way I could. Besides, it wasn’t like I had anyone else to talk to, and I needed to…tell someone.” He fell silent for a moment. “It’s different now. I want you to know too. Everything…”

Fenris held his breath, forcing down several more bitter remarks – _Yes, I’m sure the way his smile makes you swoon had nothing to do with it_ – reminding himself that his first reaction to Hawke had been pretty much the same. He had been entirely stunned by him, a man who hadn’t hesitated to agree to fight a Tevinter magister to help a runaway slave who had admitted to deceiving him only minutes earlier, a man who had, without the slightest subtlety, left the coin the slave had given him as payment behind on his next visit. Like Anders, Fenris had confided solely in that man, for a long time. Whatever bitterness he felt, he had no right to drown Anders in it. The mage had given him his trust. His first action would not be to betray it; no, he would listen to what the mage needed to say. He would help him talk about it, even if it hurt to hear it.

“How did he wind up in the Circle here?”

“He was transferred. He didn’t want to go, but of course they didn’t give him a choice. I begged them to at least let me go with him. They refused. When they took him away, it was as if was twelve again, utterly helpless, completely alone, crying my eyes out. And again, no one cared.”

“Why did they choose to separate you? If his presence made you stop trying to escape…”

“Officially, they didn’t separate us; the Kirkwall Circle ‘needed new talent’. I don’t know if that’s true. Mages aren’t allowed to have…relations. Of course, it still happens all the time, though it tends to be more about hasty pleasure, with as little attachment as possible…Less risk of getting caught. Karl and I…we tried to keep it secret, but if the Templars found out…What better way to punish us than by making it clear we would never see each other again. I’m not even sure which is worse – breaking our hearts on purpose, or not even caring enough to realize our hearts would be broken…”

“Do you still…miss him?”

“I always will, in some way. But not like I used to….And it’s not like I’m not ready for…someone else…I mean, if…” Anders paused, exhaling slowly. “He will always be important to me, but…as a part of my past. And as for the past…as soon as he was gone, I tried to flee again. Only this time, I was headed for Kirkwall. They caught me before I even managed to cross the sea. And when I tried again, they put me in solitary for a year.”

“A…year?” He had to have misspoken. Surely, a whole year would destroy even the strongest mind, and with mages’ minds being more susceptible to begin with, it would be a foolish risk to take.

“Yes. And believe me, if I thought the tower was cold and grey, it was nothing compared to the dungeons. There was no light, no touch, no one to talk to, only whispers in the dark or…in my mind.”

“Demons.”

“Yes.”

Fenris felt his guts twisting at the shame tinging the mage’s voice. Anger clawed its way into every part of him. _Cowards. Counting on demons to do their dirty work. A blade would have been more honest…_ None of this would make Anders feel better. “You withstood their temptations, in conditions designed to drive even the strongest men mad. There is no weakness in that.”

Anders nodded without looking at him. “I know. But I felt weak, Maker, it felt as if there was nothing left but weakness. I was so frail, not only my body, but my mind as well. If not for Mr. Wiggums, I would not have survived.”

“Do I want to know who…what…that is?”

“The tower’s mouser. He crept into my cell every day – I think, there was no way to really measure time. He curled up against me, let me pet him, purred into my skin, listened to me…”

Fenris could not help smiling. “A cat…”

“Yes. And yes, he is part of…the story. But…I don’t think I can manage more at the moment….”

“I understand, mage.” Fenris hesitated for a moment. “What they did to you was wrong. Their duty was to protect you from demons, not feed you to them. If I could make them pay for it, I would.”

“Thank you.” Anders studied his feet for a moment. Then he asked, “Would you…tell me about your life with Danarius?”

Fenris froze. “I…cannot.” He swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue. “I know it is not fair to deny you after all you just shared, but…”

“Another time then,” the mage interrupted him gently, “when you’re ready.”

“I don’t know that I ever will be.”

“ _If_ you are ready, then.”

Fenris nodded, and to give himself something to do, picked up his bottle. There was still some wine left. Anders did the same with his cider, and for a while, neither of them spoke. Finally, Fenris turned to look at the mage, who had accepted his lack of reciprocity without complaint, and asked, “You once said silence was my biggest problem. Why?”

“Silence is a fertile soil for more suffering. Trust me, I was forced into more than enough of it to know.”

“Your incessant chatter has not exactly helped you either.”

Anders grinned. “You don't know what kind of state I’d be in without it…”

“Well, I would indeed not _know_ ,' Fenris answered in kind.

“Would you prefer that?” The grin had left both face and voice. 

Fenris stared at him for a second before he admitted, “No. I would not.”

“I’m glad to hear that. And I’d like to know more about you too….I mean, only once you are ready. If you are. Not if it hurts too much. We’ve got time. Well, at least I hope we do, we are in Kirkwall after all…”

Fenris looked at the bottle in his hand. He could read the label now, though the name didn’t mean anything to him. He was a free man. Not like he used to be when…

“Do you remember which wine you brought me when we first sat on the balcony together?”

“Agreggio Pavali. And as far as I remember, we never sat down that day.”

“Why did you choose to bring me specifically _that_ wine?”

“Hawke told me you liked it.”

“Did he also tell you why?”

“No. He only mentioned it in passing, when we saw a bottle in a shop somewhere…So, there is more to it?”

“I was drinking it when he first visited me at the mansion…and then smashed the bottle against the wall. As I told him, Danarius used to have me pour it for his guests, to intimidate them. I had to serve it, but I was not allowed to taste it. It feels good to drink it now, a reminder he no longer has the power to decide for me.”

Anders was looking at him, intently, yet he didn’t urge him on. And Fenris didn’t exactly want to continue…But he wanted to give him at least something, wanted him to know more than what he had told Hawke.

“Danarius only had me pour it for show, of course. He had many others slaves more accustomed to such tasks, but he had succeeded in an experiment that had been considered impossible. Parading me around, showing off my unique abilities…it was an easy way to impress his opponents. And he loved to demonstrate his control over his ‘deadly creation’. If I spilled even a single drop, he would lash me right in front of his guests…And when his guests consisted of those who had earned his favour, esteemed allies, spilling a drop did not only result in lashings. They used to rattle the table, or even the glass, to make sure I could not fulfil my task. For if I did not, Danarius would hand them my leash for the rest of the day, allow them to punish me in whatever way they saw fit, give them the honour of having his lethal bodyguard reduced to their plaything. It was a favoured game of his. Luckily for me, he had few allies.”

Anders’ eyes seemed to have doubled in size. “Maker…No wonder you hated him so much...”

“I did not hate him, then.” Fenris hesitated. Putting it into words was painful. He never had before, not out loud. Not even to Hawke. He was not sure if he would be able to now. “I…He was everything I had. My whole world. I had no memories of a life before him. I was devoted to him. I thought he punished me because I deserved it, to help me become better. He always said it hurt him more than it hurt me. I believed him... I tried to be good, craved his tenderness. He could be so gentle with me when we were alone. I thought it meant he cared…I did not know any better.”

“I wish you hadn’t killed him, so _I_ could kill him now. Slowly. He deserves endless pain for what he did for you. All the suffering in Thedas is not enough. I wish…I wish I were a necromancer; I’d raise him from the dead and kill him, painfully, again and again and again. That spineless coward, that revolting piece of shit, that…”

Anders’ anger…it was nothing new. But to feel it, raw and burning and no less intense than when he faced Templars, on Fenris’ behalf, all directed at the man who had scarred him - it made Fenris smile. Made him feel warm. Safe. He did not know whence or when the impulse came, but without thinking, he let his head sink unto the mage's shoulder...the feathers were soft… An eternal blink later, the mage lowered his head as well, letting it rest on top of Fenris’.

For a moment, they just sat there, unmoving. Then Anders took Fenris’ hand in his and gently, ever so gently, interlaced their fingers, and Fenris could no longer remember how to breathe.

He felt calm, safe at the mage's side - and gut-twistingly nervous, tingly and confused. He didn't understand how two such contradictory states could exist within the same space, at the same time. But they did. Peace and chaos holding hands within him, as intertwined as the mage's fingers with his own…He did not want Anders’ hand to ever let go, but it would if Fenris passed out. Which he would if he didn’t get air into his lungs. He forced himself to relax, to feel nothing but the weight of Anders’ head against his, the soft tickle of the feathers against his cheek, the dry warmth of his skin where their fingers curled around each other, the movements of Anders’ breathing...a little uneven, as if the mage was confused too. Slowly, their rhythms began to synchronise, leaning against each other, breathing one another to safety. As long as he didn't move, this would not shatter. So he didn’t. Neither did Anders. They sat like this, tangents in one place, entangled in another, for a long time.

Finally, Anders whispered, “Thank you for telling me. You didn't have to do that.” One of his fingers was tracing soft patterns on Fenris’ palm.

“I wanted to.”

“I’m glad you did. And I'm always ready to listen. Or to just...sit with you.”

“It is appreciated…Both of it.”

After another moment of silence, Anders said, “Listen, I…I shouldn’t have asked so much of you. After what they did to you…It’s alright if you hate mages – not that we’re all the same, but Maker, how couldn’t you. Just please…don’t hate…me.”

“I do not hate mages. I just cannot simply…forget…”

“No, of course not. When it comes to Templars, I can’t just forget either….And I needed you to understand so badly – yet when it came to trying to understand you… I’m sorry.”

“There is no need. You believed I blamed you for what they did to me. I did not, although I was wary of you. But I have never hated you. It was merely…difficult.” He sighed. “And you did not exactly make it easier…”

“You know, people _keep_ saying that about me…”

He could feel the mage’s smile against his hair. It tickled in the lightest, softest fashion. He wondered if Anders could feel that he was smiling as well.

“I would suggest listening to them but…we are talking about you.”

The mage was still smiling, tilting his head ever so slightly, his cheek brushing against Fenris’ fringe.

“It really is soft, you know.”

“Hmm?”

“Your hair. It really is soft.” 

“So are your feathers,” Fenris didn’t seem to be able to stop smiling either.” Ridiculous as they look.”

“I like them.”

“Is there a reason?”

“Birds are…free.”

“Some of them are kept in cages…But not you. You will not be caged again.”

“Neither will you. Any Tevinter bastard that shows up will get a few fireballs to suck on right into their face. I’ll die before I let anyone put a leash on you again.”

“I believe you.” And he did. Although it was unlikely he would be successful should it indeed come to this, Fenris had no doubt Anders was foolish, and wonderful, enough to try.

They sat for an even longer time afterwards and still, neither of them moved.

Not until the witch set foot into their little world.

“Oh, there you are. Hawke asked me to look for you. He said since the food here was so awful – it really was, wasn’t it – we should all head over to his place for a proper dinner.” She beamed in that insufferable way of hers, but at least she didn’t comment on their…position.

“Well, I suppose something to eat that doesn’t taste like dust would be nice,” Anders said as he heaved himself off the floor, to the loudly creaking protests of several joints. “We should get going.”

Fenris sighed, but got up as well, and they went back inside, with Anders taking the lead. The witch put a hand on Fenris’ elbow. “I’m so sorry Hawke had me bother you, Fenris. I know you prefer to be alone.”

He had no desire to listen to her babbling, so he just huffed, “I was not alone.”

“No, but...” the witch looked at him with what was best described as a puzzled frown, “Anders has sort of become part of your alone, hasn't he?”

He had no idea how to respond to that, so he remained silent, which she didn’t seem to mind too much. Yet as his gaze drifted across the mage’s back, he couldn’t help thinking…The witch was not wrong. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He’s fragile and fierce, and he cares so much,  
> his skin feels oddly soft to the touch.


	11. Chapter 11

“Ah-ah, no running off to secret hideaways - I’m watching you two!” Hawke mock-scolded when Fenris (apparently not so) discreetly tried to leave. “This is group night.”

“That’s right boys, a big old group thing, and not in the fun way. You’ll suffer just like the rest of us.” One arm around Hawke and the other around the witch, Isabela still managed to waggle an accusing finger at him.

Anders rolled his eyes, “ _I_ haven’t even moved a muscle. Ever considered that maybe he just needs to relieve himself? If he bursts and drenches us all in urine, I’ll hold you responsible.”

“Oh no, that would be bad. No wonder he’s so grumpy; I would be grumpy if there was so much urine inside me. You shouldn’t force him to hold it in, Hawke!” The witch sounded genuinely concerned, but her lips were twitching ever so slightly, and Fenris wondered if perhaps there was something else going on…

“Is it really too much to ask not to have to spend my anniversary listening to you talk about urine? It takes the fun out of drinking ale, that’s for sure.”

“Well, our Captain’s word is my command. Off with you, then – singular _you_ –and get some more wine on your way back.”

Fenris was, in fact, not even remotely at risk of bursting, and he had little hope Anders would get a chance to follow him, but a few minutes of quiet were better than nothing, and more wine didn’t sound like such a bad idea either. He took his time, even spent a few minutes on the balcony – who knew, perhaps Anders would find a way. Yet eventually, he had to accept defeat, so he picked up as many bottles of wine as he could carry and returned to the others.

“Finally. I was just about to send out a rescue party,” Hawke shouted as soon as Fenris came into view.

“There was a line. And I brought wine.”

“Did you just…rhyme? Maker, so did I, didn’t I? Now that’s mighty fine.” Hawke erupted into hysterical giggles.

Perhaps they did not, in fact, need more wine.

Fenris chose to ignore Hawke’s outburst and settled back into his seat. He stole a glance at the mage across from him, but Anders seemed too busy discussing something with the dwarf to notice him. Fenris sighed. It was going to be a long night indeed, and not in a good way like at the last party, when they had been alone on the balcony, Anders telling him about the Circle. They had sat there for hours, but it hadn’t felt long at all. And afterwards… As he had come to do more often than not, regardless of weapon status, Fenris had walked the mage home. After their first “date”, Anders hadn’t joked about Goodnight-kisses again. He hadn’t that night, either, but before slipping inside, he had turned around, whispered “Goodnight, Fenris” - saying his name so tenderly - and planted a soft kiss on his cheek. It took only a few seconds, and then he was gone and Fenris stood there like a fool, fingers pressed to where the mage's lips had touched him.

Hawke hadn’t sent them out together since; there had only been one event that asked for the Champion’s presence and for once, Hawke had actually deigned to attend it himself. Not going out for a whole week had felt…strange. There had been noticeably less fun…noticeably less Anders. Fenris supposed he could have just visited him at his clinic, or – there weren’t any rules against…taking him to dinner, were there? It wasn’t like Fenris couldn’t afford it or the mage couldn’t use some food. But…would Anders even want to go? Wouldn’t it be weird to just…ask him? Fenris couldn’t decide – what if the mage said no? After all, the only reason he had agreed to go out with Fenris in the first place had been Hawke insisting on it. Of course, things were different now. But were they as different for Anders as they were for him?

The mage _had_ tried to sneak off towards “their” balcony as well. Didn’t that mean he also wanted to spend time with him? They hadn’t really talked for – it had only been a week, but it felt longer somehow. They had always been surrounded by their friends (or their friends and several enemies), and even now, Hawke seemed determined to keep them all in one place together. He hadn’t even let them out of his sight during his impression of a spiderling flailing across a frozen lake (or as he referred to it, “dancing”), and now that he was sitting again, a few pieces of ceramic and splintered wood still sticking out of his clothes, there was even less of a chance. As he kept reminding them, they were here to celebrate Aveline’s and Donnic’s anniversary – despite the former’s initial protests of “This is a private matter, Hawke. You don’t have to be involved in _everything_.”

“Wise words. Kindly pass them on to the people you have spying on me when you find the time. And don’t worry, you’ll get your private dinner – and night – but in between, you’re going to bring a little life to a Hightown soirée with us. We all suffered to get you two to this point; we have just as much reason to celebrate…”

“ _Hawke_.” Aveline had put on her best “Friend or not, I will not budge on this” –expression.

“The Captain of the guard at the centre of attention at a Hightown party, reminding everyone that the Champion could never have saved the city without her help – is it just me or could that be…beneficial to the guards? Bored nobles love to donate, and while they apparently don’t think much of keeping people from starving or giving them homes, they do so love ‘order’ and ‘stability and ‘values’ and – I always fall asleep before whatever comes next…Wouldn’t you do that for the sake of your brave women and men, Aveline? _Don’t you love them anymore_?” The man had absolutely no shame, but at least he knew it.

Aveline had scowled, then sighed, then surrendered…Was there really no such as thing as a Blood Rogue?

Thus, they were all here together, and of course Hawke was right; it would be rude to just sneak off but...Fenris didn’t think Aveline would actually mind all that much. She was steadily getting drunk, and probably just as steadily falling more in love with her husband. For after she had told the nobles that the party was certainly nice for a festivity; that most of the wine found at events like these tended to come from smuggler’s dens and that the guard needed to crack down harder on those; and that there were several more steps to keeping armour functional than just polishing it, all of which she then listed meticulously, Donnic had ever so subtly and affably taken over. Now, he was seemingly effortlessly charming the room, hinting at the necessity for more patrols to keep the riff-raff out of the respectable parts of the city and praising his Captain in ever-modest tones, while Aveline had made herself comfortable several feet away, happily ignoring the other guests.

“You’re not exactly getting much quality time with your husband this way,” Varric chuckled.

“It’s either one husband less or several nobles more. Goes to show, sometimes less _is_ more.”

“Still, you should be dancing on your big night. Allow me the honour then, my lady,” Sebastian said.

A clear indicator of how inebriated she was already, Aveline accepted. She was stumbling a little, but compared to Hawke…she was beauty and grace. Fenris was watching them move across the dancefloor, wondering just how drunk everyone would have to get before Hawke would finally release them from their “family duties”.

“Care to join me for a little dance, Fenris?”

He looked up, startled. “I…do not know the steps.”

“Neither do I,” Anders said with a smile. “Doesn’t matter, we’ll just make up our own. Please?”

As if there was a way he could resist that look, head cocked to the side like an attentive cat, eyes wide, mouth close to a pout…it was too endearing to refuse.

They walked out onto the dancefloor.

“I am not certain about this.”

“Ah, come on, it’ll be fun - it’s not like there’s any way we can be worse than Hawke…And it’s the only break we’re likely to get tonight. Hawke seems determined to keep us all together.”

“Donnic managed to get away.”

Looking over at Donnic and the ring of nobles that had formed around him, Anders grinned, “I’d say it’s more like he’s taking one for the team. Remind me to buy him a drink the next time he joins us for Wicked Grace.”

“Is that short for ‘remind me to ask you for coin when he joins us so I actually have the means to pay for said drink’?”

“Aw, you know me so well.”

Despite their slow pace, they had reached the far end of the dancefloor. No way around it anymore.

“Don’t worry,” the mage smiled, putting a hand on Fenris’ waist, “I’ll keep you safe.”

 

It wasn’t graceful. Anders definitely had more talent for this - Fenris kept stepping on his toes; his movements felt stiff and clumsy. But Anders didn’t seem to mind. He was all smiles and giggles. And he was close. Warm. And holding Fenris. There was definitely something to be said for dancing.

“Something on your mind, mage?” Fenris asked when the giggling stopped and Anders’ gaze kept flitting from Fenris’ eyes to the room and back again.

“No, I’m fine, just enjoying our dance.”

“ _Mage_.”

“Alright, yes, there _is_ one thing I wanted to ask you, but you’d probably rip my heart out for it…and it’d probably be justified.”

Fenris sighed, “Whatever it is, I assure you, your heart is safe from me.”

Anders smiled, but his eyes didn’t follow suit. “If there’s one thing that isn’t safe from you, it’s my heart.”

Fenris didn’t know what to say – _could…could he mean_ …? “Ah…so…what was it you wanted to ask?”

“Fenris…”

“I will not harm you, mage. You know that.”

“Yes. You might get angry though, and I’m not very fond of you being angry with me.”

“Then it is even more unfortunate that I am getting angry now. Ask your question.”

“Alright, alright…but remember, you asked for it! At that dinner thing, I said you could think of me when you…had some…alone-time…”

“I do remember.”

“Well, I’ve been wondering…did you?”

Fenris swallowed. What should he tell him? No matter the answer, the outcome could be disastrous. But since that was so…perhaps he should simply settle for the truth.

“I did.”

Anders drew in a sharp breath, almost tripping over his feet. For a moment, all his grace was gone. “Did it…help?”

“Yes.”

Another sharp inhale.

“Well, I’m glad I could be of use.” The nonchalance of that statement was decidedly too perfect to be believable. “Alright, they’re playing a faster tune, time to spice things up a bit.”

Fenris wasn’t sure if the sudden change of topic was frustrating or…a relief. It did spare him the decision whether to ask the question that refused to stop bouncing around inside his head… _Do you ever think of me_? He was too afraid of the answer – of either answer. One would hurt, even though it shouldn’t; the other would be such a jumble of thrill and terror…and only lead to more questions. Questions Fenris had no answers to. He forced himself to focus on their dancing instead, trying to let Anders lead the way and to not mutilate his toes too much.

It became more fun as they went on and Fenris started to feel a little more secure in his steps. Anders seemed born for this, light on his feet, free…It was as if he was transported to a place that was more alive when he moved with the music…and somehow, he was taking Fenris with him, right there in his arms. No wonder people kept asking him for the next dance. But the mage always declined, keeping his hands firmly in place on Fenris’ waist.

“I’m afraid my dance card is all full.”

“Anders,” Hawke chided when they passed by where their friends were sitting, “Don’t be rude. I’m sure you can do without your shadow for five minutes. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on him...”

“I bet you will,” Fenris caught Anders muttering under his breath before he sighed and let go of him.

Fenris sat down next to the others, trying to concentrate on the tale Varric was spinning. The mage was dancing with a much too cheerful noble, and Fenris eyes kept straying towards him, with what he wished he were more successful in denying was longing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fast with his tongue and light on his feet   
> \- Has his smile always been this sweet?


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter should be ready soon, definitely sometime this week.

The same room, same lighting, most likely the same nobles around them. A bowl of the same snacks between them. But not the same person next to him. No, this time Hawke was the one filling the seat, smiling and chatting away. For once, he had decided to attend a play himself, and since Isabela had said it sounded “even duller than a day with Sebastian”, he had invited Fenris along. Much to Anders' chagrin.

“Seriously, Hawke, as if choosing someone else over my exquisite company wasn’t bad enough, you also have to snatch away my date?”

There had only been so much jest in his words, and although Hawke winked at him and cheerfully promised, “Ah, I'll make it up to you. You know they only gave me two seats, but I’ll take you to the next one!” Anders still looked decidedly unhappy.

Hawke chose to ignore his expression, although to be fair, he probably didn’t even notice it; he was too busy clapping his hands excitedly. “You two have told us so many funny stories about these events - I feel left out. And you and I haven’t spent that much time together recently. I’ve missed you.” The last part had been directed at Fenris. How could he have refused? Not that he necessarily wanted to refuse, he had been too surprised Hawke actually wanted to go to give much thought to whether _he_ wanted to go, but the look on Anders’ face had made his stomach clench in a clammy uneasiness.

Anders. Anders who had sat in this very place with him what seemed like years ago, not months. Back then Fenris had resented his company – although he had to admit, even that first “date” had, in the end, been much more enjoyable than he would have expected, minor squabbles included. And now he missed him. For there could no longer be any denying that was what it was…He _missed_ him. Venhedis, he even wished he were here with him instead of Hawke. Which wasn’t to say he didn't enjoy spending time with Hawke. Talking with him was as delightful as it had always been, and unlike with Anders, there was no need for guarding himself, no tension or uncertainties. But it wasn't the same. Hawke's smile might have been easier to bring out, yet it also felt less rewarding. And less...promising. He felt comfortable with him, much less fragility in the air around them, but...He didn't know what, he just wished for Anders, sharp-tongued, bitchy, irritating, funny, understanding, gentle _Anders_ to be here. To talk and maybe to occasionally steal a glance at…but mostly to talk and bicker and just…be together, really.

Yes, there was a bowl of snacks to share between them, but when his hands brushed briefly against Hawke’s on his quest for food, it was an entirely different matter, just a short bump otherwise unnoticed. Accidentally touching Anders’ skin sent sparks all through Fenris’ body, and that had nothing to do with the man's magic. He had felt them as far back as that first night here, in this very room, although he hadn’t known what to do with the feeling. He wasn’t sure he knew it even now, but every time since, the sensation had only gotten stronger.

And when it came to not-so-accidental touch…It was difficult not to blush as he remembered the last time they had been on a “date” together, the party, the dancing….When Hawke had finally agreed it was time to leave, Fenris had once again walked Anders to his clinic, after they had both volunteered to get a rather drunk Donnic and a very drunk Aveline home safely. As the mage whispered his Goodnight and leaned in, Fenris thought, hoped, he would kiss his cheek again, but instead he put his mouth to his ear and said, breath hot against Fenris’ skin, “Just so you know, I’m going to _enjoy_ myself tonight – and I will be thinking of you while I do so.” Again, he was gone in a flash, and Fenris was left staring at the door, wondering if he should knock, imagining doing just that, looking straight at Anders and asking him if he would not prefer more than thoughts. He stood there for a long time. And then he went home. Not only had they not been on any dates since that night, they had never even been alone with each other, hadn’t had a chance to…talk.

Was the mage just messing with him? Fenris didn’t think Anders would intentionally hurt him, humiliate him like that, not anymore. They were long past that. Yes, the mage could be cruel and merciless in his attacks, but only when he felt threatened or scorned – and not to the people he truly cared about, not to his _friends_. Yet if Anders wasn’t aware of how much it meant to Fenris, if he thought they were both just having a little harmless fun, teasing each other, he would certainly enjoy making Fenris blush, throwing him off balance... It was entirely possible.

He sighed. There was no use in wondering, thinking in circles, even less in wishing for Anders to be at his side right now. He was here with his friend, one of his closest friends, he should try to enjoy the evening, different as it was from what he had grown used to. Hawke would tire of the nobles soon enough and send him out with Anders again, and in the unlikely event that he didn’t, Fenris would just have to stop being a coward and ask Anders out to dinner himself. It couldn’t be that hard, could it? He had survived an experiment that was considered unsurvivable, had managed to escape the Imperium, and had faced and killed his former master. Surely, he could master the task of asking one mage to dinner. And in the meantime, a nice, unexciting but comfortable evening with a friend, someone he knew where he stood with, might not be so bad a break from routine.

 

It had been an enjoyable evening, after all. A horrific performance they could make fun of, even more horrific nobles they could also make fun of, Hawke’s terrible but endearing jokes, good food... Yes, as ludicrous as missing someone he had seen just a few hours ago and would see again tomorrow was, he had still thought of Anders from time to time, but it hadn’t diminished his fun. Or well, at least not too much. And it had reminded him of how it used to be - Hawke had been right, they hadn’t spent much time together over the last months, and it felt good to catch up a little. Of course, they had seen each other all the time, but they’d either had their hands full with weapons embedded in people trying to kill them, or with cards and tankards, which, although companionable, didn’t offer that much opportunity for lengthy talks. Still laughing and chatting as usual, they were approaching Hawke’s estate, where they would part ways as usual. And from there on, things did not go _quite_ the way they usually did.

“So, Fenris,” Hawke turned towards him with a smile when they reached the door and Fenris was about to say his Goodbyes, “the night is still pretty young, and Orana made that sugary-death Tevinter pastry you’re so fond of. How about you join me for a drink? We could talk a little more.”

He’d had him at _pastry_.

 

The library was pleasantly warm and cosy, and the pastry smelled delicious. Hawke placed it on the coffee table and signalled for Fenris to sit down while he went to fetch their drinks. Before sitting down himself, he grabbed one of the dressing gowns he had lying around, jumped on his chair and hung it over the statue Fenris had once admitted reminded him way too much of Tevinter.

“All set!” he beamed as he scrambled back down and slumped into his seat in a picture-perfect impression of “not a care in the world”. He did this every time he came over, and it never failed to make Fenris smile. Yet he also never failed to point out, “You could just get rid of the cursed thing, Hawke. You do not even like it.”

“Not particularly, no. I’m not even sure how it got here. Perhaps mother bought it…I don’t recall her having a preference for butt-ugly statues with creepy-arse eyes, but well, what do I know.”

“Obviously not how to decorate.”

“I could remind you of the state of your mansion, but that would bejust too easy. So I’ll restrain myself and instead remind you that disturbing as the thing may be, I’m not in the habit of kicking out misfits….and it looks so pretty wearing my robes!”

“I still know what’s underneath them.”

“And if I took it off the wall, you’d still know what had once hung in the empty spot.”

Fenris sighed. “True.”

Hawke flashed him his biggest smile. “Remember, not _every_ memory of Tevinter is bad. Otherwise I don’t see why you’d always devour this,” he indicated the pastry, “within seconds.”

Ah, yes, Orana’s pastry, made just like they did in Tevinter, with spices he had no doubt Hawke paid a fortune to procure. Sweet and rich far beyond what his friends could stomach, it indeed managed to fill him with a sense of…maybe not quite home, maybe not quite peace, but something close enough to it to be treasured, something solid and earthy, rooted deep in Fenris’ core. He wasn’t sure where it came from. Perhaps from the occasional scraps Danarius had let him have, perhaps from some time long before that, a time he could not remember, yet his senses could not forget. 

Add to that his general fondness for everything sweet, and the poor dessert didn’t stand a chance. Neither did anyone who might have wanted a piece, which made it all the more fortunate that his friends didn’t really care for it. Accordingly, Hawke declined the offer of a slice for himself, assuring Fenris he was content with his drink.

Fenris dug in heartily, and as he felt the sharp sweetness warm his body, he tried to remember if Anders had ever tried it. It seemed rather likely that he hadn’t, as Orana only made Tevinter desserts when Hawke told her Fenris would come over - which in some instances even coincided with Fenris _actually_ coming over; more often, it was merely a way to trick her into making food she liked to eat herself. It took more resolve than could be considered dignified, but Fenris decided to save the last piece. He could take it to the clinic tomorrow; he was curious to see if Anders liked it…and well, it also offered a plausible explanation for visiting him. Licking the last traces of sugar off his fingers, he leaned back in his chair contentedly and smiled at Hawke, who had silently watched the pastry-massacre with an amused curl of his lips.

“Full already? Normally, you show no mercy.”

“I am saving the rest for a special occasion.”

“Are you saying this isn’t special? Oh my poor, wounded heart,” Hawke exclaimed, putting his hand above where he apparently thought his heart lay.

“An evening with you is always special, Hawke.” And he meant it. Hawke’s presence never failed to provide a steady, soothing comfort; the fire was lulling Fenris’ skin in a pleasant warmth; the pastry had created a similar glow in his stomach; and the drink was now slowly turning him into a stupidly grinning furnace. He could have happily fallen asleep right there in Hawke’s giant armchair.

Hawke, however, still seemed very much awake. He poured another drink for Fenris, and one for himself. “Well, while we’re on the topic of ‘special’, there was something I wanted to talk to you about…Still sober enough to listen?” He winked at Fenris.

“I am fine,” Fenris smiled lazily.

“Perfect. Alright, well, I was kind of hoping we could make this evening even more…special?”

Tired though he felt, Fenris didn’t want to let Hawke down if he wished to go out some more – he really had neglected his friend a bit lately. He nodded. “As you wish. Although I would prefer something not too strenuous.”

“Oh, I would be willing to do to all the work,” Hawke grinned.

“What did you have in mind? We could try the Hanged Man, but by the time we reach Lowtown, the others may be asleep.”

“Actually, I was hoping we might stay here. Or well, not _exactly_ here…Back when we talked about…exploring what could be between us, you said you needed to think about it and well, it’s been some time now. Quite some time, I know. And I know I’ve been spending time on other shores, so to speak, but I don’t want you to think I’ve just,” he gave an awkward little laugh, “sailed off into the sunset and forgotten about you. I was a little distracted for a while, and I also wanted to give you the time you needed – but you never mentioned it again, and I wasn’t sure if I should bring it up. Still, I’ve thought about you often, and I miss us being as close as we used to be…Like I said, the night is still young, so I was hoping you might want to…stay…”

Completely taken aback, Fenris had felt his body grow more rigid with every word. Hawke had fallen silent, looking at him expectantly, and Fenris was desperately fumbling for something, anything to say. Surely, Hawke had to be joking? Through the sudden desert in his mouth, Fenris stammered the safest reply his frozen mind could dig up, “Hawke, you…already have someone who…stays the night.”

It didn’t have the expected effect.

“Isabela and I have never been exclusive.”

“I do not wish to…”

“I know,” Hawke interrupted him gently, “and I’m not asking for a one-night fling, Fenris. I want more. I want to be with you. I’m not denying I also have feelings for Isabela, and I admit I wouldn’t like to have to choose between the two of you, just as Isabela doesn’t want to have to decide between me and Merrill…And I’d never make her. I’m perfectly happy with the way things are; I’ve never understood why there should only be one person…” He stopped mid-sentence, leaned forward in his chair and took hold of Fenris’ hand. “But that doesn’t matter. If that is something _you_ couldn’t be happy with, if you need me to make a decision, I _am_ willing to make one. And I’d choose you.”

The earnestness of Hawke’s touch, the pleading in his eyes, the way he had bared his heart so fearlessly - it was perfect. And Fenris realised in horror that he did not want it. Not from him. There had been a time when he would have been thrilled to hear exactly those words, in exactly that order, from exactly this man. He had lain awake at night, imagining them, scolding himself for being foolish. Now he had heard them, and “thrilled” was the last thing he felt. There was only dread, a nauseous tightness in his stomach. He couldn’t meet Hawke’s eyes when he said, carefully weighing every word, “I do not think that would be wise, Hawke. Not that the offer is not tempting. I should go.”

Fenris kept his eyes on the floor as he got up and headed towards the door. He could not bear to look back, to see just how much he had destroyed.

He had only managed a few steps when he felt Hawke approaching behind him. Of course he would not let him leave without at least saying Goodbye. And he was right, Fenris owed him that much. He turned around, preparing to face his friend’s anger, but was met with a smile instead.

“Let me guess, you need to ‘consider’ it first…Perhaps I can help with that.”

Before Fenris had a chance to reply, he was pinned against the wall, Hawke’s body against and his arms around him. And then he was lost in nothing but lips and tongue and heat, his mind faintly whispering a name he could not quite make out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He is chatty and foolish, has the haughtiest stare,  
> yet there is no one who does quite compare.


	13. Chapter 13

Fenris walked into the clinic without looking left or right, or even lifting his head. He had to do this quickly, before he had time to change his mind… _again_. There had been five attempts in as many days, and this time he would see it through. He would face Anders.

He had not seen him since the day Hawke and he had…gone to see the play. Hadn’t dared talk to him, had even missed Wicked Grace - although he needn’t have bothered, as the dwarf had later informed him, Anders hadn’t shown up either.

“It was pretty quiet without the two of you…Three of you, actually, our glorious leader was nowhere to be seen either. Any idea what’s going on there?”

“No.”

The dwarf hadn’t inquired further, which was never a good a sign.

Fenris had no reason to feel guilty. But he did; he felt nothing but guilt and shame and fear as he spotted Anders in the corner, halfway through folding an absurdly large pile of blankets. By now, Fenris was sure, word had got out. Word always got out.

The mage stood facing away from him. If Fenris backed away now, he could still…Anders turned around. _Saw_ him.

Too late.

“Oh. It’s you. Anything you want?” His tone was completely indifferent. Except it wasn’t. Fenris could taste the cold underneath, that wall of ice Anders put up, freezing any hand that tried to reach out. It wasn’t the first time Fenris had been faced with it. But it had never felt as devastating as it felt now.

“Don’t be like that, mage.”

“Like what?” Anders raised his eyebrows, his voice somehow managing to be equal parts sharpness and nonchalance.

Fenris, on the other hand, didn’t manage more than a whisper. “Please.”

There was a flicker of softness, of concern, in Anders’ eyes before the wall fell firmly back into place. “Well, what _do_ you want? You were remarkably absent last week.”

“So were you.”

“But I’m not the one who had such a _pleasant_ evening. And yes, yes, you got who you really wanted, I should be happy for you and all, but I’m afraid gracious is just not my style. So again, anything you need? If not I’d like to get back to work.”

There was a sinking feeling in Fenris’ stomach, like it was about to drop straight to the clinic’s floor. “What are you talking about?”

“Oh please, just how blind and dumb do you think I am? He ‘missed you’ and felt ‘left out’. And I know he wanted to take you home, so don't act like you don't know what I’m talking about; he mentioned it to Isabela. She was all for it, too, saying since he had so stupidly skipped on that Zevran guy, it was about time he'd get a go at that taut body he had been leering at for years. And that there was ‘enough of him’ for the both of you, apparently.”

“And you did not think to share that information even though you normally only stop talking when you need to inhale?” Fenris couldn’t believe it - How could Anders have kept this from him? If Fenris had known, he wouldn’t have agreed to drinks, wouldn’t have…

“I thought about telling you, but I figured it wasn't my place.” Anders had the audacity to actually _shrug_.

“Since when does that stop you?” It was hard not to yell, to keep control of this anger seething inside him…If he started shouting now, Anders would shout as well. And if it came to that, there would almost definitely never again be anything more than shouting between them. He would lose everything, Anders’ smile, his jokes, his care – if he hadn’t already. No amount of anger, no matter how righteous, was worth that. Nothing was worth that. _Please. Please, I cannot lose you._

“Like I said, he was stealing my date. It wouldn't have come across as anything but jealous ravings anyway.”

Fenris stared at him, his mind fluttering through Anders’ words like an over-excited bird, and about as likely to find the meaning behind them. Could Anders truly be jealous of Hawke for stealing _him_? Wasn’t it more likely that it was still the other way round? It was an important distinction, and Fenris wished there was a way to know the answer _before_ he would have to admit that he had rejected Hawke. Twice. What made it even worse was that, judging by the look on Anders' face, it would probably take quite some convincing to make him understand that Fenris had in fact done just that, and he did not particularly wish to go into the details of _why_ he had done it. _Because when he suddenly kissed me, I wanted it to be you_. It was ridiculous. He had dreamt of Hawke for so long and when his chance finally came, everything had felt wrong and his stupid, stupid heart had been whispering another name. The name of a mage, an abom…a possessed mage. Who was most likely still in love with the man Fenris had just refused....It was a hopeless mess. He contemplated snarling or leaving, for one brave moment even confessing what he felt, before he finally brought himself to at least be honest about that night's events.

"You are correct in assuming he propositioned but wrong in the assumption that I accepted."

"Yes, of course, you just smiled and walked away when the object of your desire asked you to spend the night, and Hawke just totally went along with that." There was bitterness, and hurt, and the disbelief Fenris had been afraid of, and once again he had to fight the urge to simply run away.

"No, he did not. He kissed me. It felt...wrong. Then I left. There was little smiling involved."

There had indeed not been. The confusion on Hawke’s face when Fenris pushed him away, when he stormed off, stammering, “No. This is wrong. I cannot do this.” …It was painful to remember. He was not sure Hawke would ever have a smile for him again. If only Anders had warned him. Though his explanation had calmed Fenris a little, he was still angry with him. Angry with himself…Angry with Hawke. Fenris was a free man. He had said _no_. That should mean something.

Slowly working himself back out of the maze of his thoughts, back to Anders, to making him understand, Fenris realized some time had to have passed. And it had passed quietly.

Anders was staring at him, unmoving, had obviously done so for quite a while. Fenris didn’t know what else to say, so he just kept standing there, shifting uneasily, staring back.

When Anders finally spoke, it was barely audible.

“You really said no.”

“I did. Had he asked, I would have refused the kiss as well.”

"Why…why did you say no?" 

There were so many expressions flitting across Anders face, changing so quickly Fenris could barely keep up - not that they were of much use to him anyhow. Normally, the mage was fairly easy to read but now, with this, Fenris felt his perception way too clouded, no way to be sure if he saw what was really there, or what he wanted to be there.

"You do not know my desires as well as you think you do."

Again, Anders remained silent, until he finally, quietly, asked, "So…you do not want Hawke anymore?"

"I do not." And now for the painful part "I'm assuming you still do?" 

Anders met his gaze and held it, unwaveringly, as he slowly shook his head. "No. I stopped aching for _Hawke_ quite some time ago."

The way Anders kept his eyes firmly on his, what he had just said, the way he had said it...Fenris felt light-headed, reminding himself not to hope, that hope would only make it hurt more, but hoping nonetheless. All he managed to croak out was, "That is... good. I am glad to hear it."

"Are you now?" Again, it was only just more than a whisper.

“Yes.” There was an awkward little pause before he continued, pouring all his strength into not looking away, “I...would not want him to...snatch away my date…”

That was all he managed to say before Anders lunged at him, if something this tender and questioning could be called lunging. His lips were gentle when they closed around Fenris’; his touch was light. It would only have taken the slightest movement for Fenris to pull back, to stop this. But Fenris did not pull back. This did not feel wrong, no, this felt more right than anything he had ever felt. A little clumsy, a little sloppy, and utterly perfect.

He pulled Anders closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Behold his face, you will not want to blink,  
> if only it would tell you what he thinks…


	14. Chapter 14

“I hope it isn’t just me because, Maker, that did not feel wrong,” Anders said, a little awkwardly and a lot out of breath.

The husky stammer Fenris offered for a reply was no less awkward.

“It’s not just you.”

At a loss for what else to say, with no way to tell how much time had passed and only a vague notion of where he was, he followed the only impulse that was left, grabbed the mage’s collar and pulled him into another kiss.

There would never be enough of this.

Anders complied, eagerly if Fenris was any judge, and he let himself sink into his touch, the warmth of his hands against Fenris’ back, the taste of his mouth, the caress of his tongue against his own and the delicious coarseness of his stubble all that was left in the world, all that mattered. When Anders finally tore away, his whisper was hoarse and full of need.

“I want to touch you.”

He hadn’t framed it as a question, but the way his eyes looked into Fenris’ left no doubt that it had been one.

“Please do.”

And Venhedis, did he mean it.

 

They only made it to the nearest cot, the need too great, one tension finally gone yet another, less crippling but not lacking in urgency, directing their every move.

“You’ll tell me if I’m going too fast?” Anders mumbled somewhere close to Fenris’ ear as he clumsily tried to unfasten his breastplate.

“For now, I can tell you you are too slow.”

Fenris only managed to get halfway through his reply before Anders softly bit his neck, and his mutter turned into a low moan. He took a step back and got to work on the buckles himself. Metal hit the ground with a clunk, and Anders drew him close again, grabbing the hem of Fenris’ tunic and slowly pulling it over his head.

The air was cold against Fenris’ chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps on his skin, and he reached for the mage’s warmth. Anders’ arms closed around him, and then, he felt himself being lifted off the ground, carried the two missing steps to the cot and gently placed on top of it, Anders’ arms relinquishing their hold on him. Fenris tried to grab him, to pull him close again, but Anders had already slunk away, kneeling down beside the cot. His hands came up and gently pressed against Fenris’ chest, easing him down, and once Fenris' head was back on the pillow, they started to ever-so-slightly caress him, moving along the planes of his chest in slow, lingering circles, tracing the curves of his arms, the hard lines of his sides, while Anders’ eyes followed their movements, his expression serene, almost reverent.

A pink glow on his pale skin, his hair slightly tousled from the heat of their kisses, eyes large and dark, Anders looked so beautiful Fenris found it hard to believe he was real. He could not stop staring.

But he wanted to do more than just look.

He reached for the mage’s shoulder and tugged at his coat, lightly at first, then with growing impatience. Anders’ hands stilled and left Fenris’ body. He lifted his eyes to smile at him and shrugged out of his coat, carelessly tossing it on the floor behind him. It was a start, but Fenris was far from satisfied, now roughly tugging at the mage’s shirt. Anders’ hands rose up again, yet stilled when they reached his collar.

“Would you like to…?” he whispered, his voice full of hesitant longing.

Peeling the mage out of all these unnecessary layers of clothing was something Fenris had dreamed of so often he had lost count, and realising Anders’ was just as aroused by the thought sent a wave of heat into the depths of his stomach.

He sat up, grabbed Anders’ shirt and slowly lifted it over his head, allowing himself only a moment to savour the sight – glorious, freckled skin, firm muscles where he hadn’t expected them – before he flung his arms tightly around him and pulled him onto the cot. Onto him. If he had thought touching Anders’ hand created sparks…he had not been prepared for the feeling of his bare chest against his own.

Anders had grunted in surprise at the sudden shift in position, but had apparently collected himself quickly, for as soon as Fenris had secured him in place, wrapping his arms firmly around his back, Anders kissed him again. And then he kissed him some more.

Their bodies intertwined, tongues entangled, Fenris was drowning in sensation. Anders’ skin hot and soft under his hands, against his chest, his hands ghosting along Fenris’ arms, down his sides, his scent all around him…Why had they waited so long to touch? They were only just beginning to get to know each other, clumsy movements and uncertain kisses, yet there was no doubt their bodies were made for it, and Fenris wanted more, so much more, all of Anders, now…

But Anders’ kisses were slowly turning tender again, more pecks than passion, his hands leaving Fenris’ skin to brush gently through his hair.

He buried his face in it with a faint murmur, “Your hair really is so soft.”

“As is your skin,” Fenris whispered against Anders’ shoulder, trailing his hands across his back at the words.

Anders lifted his head and smiled at him. “That’s only cause you haven’t reached the hairy parts yet.”

He bent to kiss his nose with unbearable tenderness, his face so close, still lit by his smile, and all thoughts but one vanished from Fenris’ mind:

_I love him._

The force of it left him naked, breathless, painting his face in a frown for just a moment.

“Is everything alright?” Anders’ voice, so full of concern, his breath against his skin, a kiss to his temple.

He caught himself and nodded, quickly, smiling for emphasis.

And it was. The thought was scary, but no longer terrifying. For the first time in his life, the words didn’t singe his mind, didn’t promise pain and control. They felt different now, like they might one day be…his. He wasn’t ready to say them yet, wasn’t even sure if he ever would be (Would Anders understand if he could not? Words meant so much to him.), but despite the fear – it was good to _feel_ them.

He buried his hands in the mage’s hair and carefully tugged, coaxing him down and into another kiss, pouring all his heat, all his longing into it. He could feel Anders smile against his lips, felt him kiss along his chin, dipping his tongue in the hollow of his throat, trailing it along his collarbone, downwards, further down and then circling it around his nipple, and he whimpered as a shock of pleasure surged through him, his head falling back against the pillow.

“Is this alright?” Anders asked softly.

“Yes, mage. Cease asking.”

“I’m sorry if I’m overdoing it a little, it’s just…I didn’t ask if it was alright to kiss you. I just didn’t know how to ask without making it weird, but I know I should have. You said Hawke didn’t give you a chance to refuse… ”

Fenris placed a finger against Anders’ lips, hushing him. “There is no need for concern. I had indicated I wanted you. I told _Hawke_ I wanted to leave before he pinned me against the wall…”

“He did _what_?” Anders’ voice cut through the air like a knife.

“Please,” Fenris whispered, kissing him softly, “not now. We may discuss this later, if you wish. For now, we have…other things to do.”

He slid his hand along the waistband of Anders’ trousers, but the mage gently caught it in his, brought it to his face and placed a kiss on each fingertip.

“There's no need to rush this, Fenris. I'm perfectly happy just feeling you close. I finally have you in my arms, that’s enough for me....Which isn’t to say I’d say no to more, but we can take our time...”

“Please...I want you to...”

“What do you want, Fenris?” Anders asked, eyes steady on his as he gently brushed Fenris’ fringe out of the way.

Fenris held his gaze. “I want you to touch me.”

“I am,” Anders said with a smile, circling a finger around his nipple at the words.

“Yes. But…” He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, no longer quite succeeding to meet the mage’s eyes. “…everywhere.”

Anders’ breath stuttered against his skin. “Everywhere...Maker, that sounds good. Are you sure?”

_I have been longing for you for months, imagining, touching myself while dreaming of things I never thought I could want. Do not refuse me, please, let me feel your touch. Let me see you, all of you. I want to know you in every way there is…_

“Yes.”

And Anders’ heeded his wish, although he took his time with it, covering every part of his skin in kisses, letting his tongue explore him as thoroughly as his hands had done, before he, at last, proceeded to help Fenris wriggle out of his leggings.

There was a sound composed of equal parts awe and laughter. “Plaid? Seriously?”

“Even if her guess is right, it is always also wrong.”

“You are devious,” Anders grinned and pulled him up into a kiss. “I like it.”

“I am pleased to hear that.” Fenris smirked, the sudden levity in the air filling him with an unfamiliar yet welcome confidence. “Now take off your clothes.”

Hot, wet breath met his ear. “Devious and bossy. A man to my tastes.”

Fenris scraped his nails against the mage’s scalp, turning his head so he was close enough to his ear to torture him in the same fashion. “Feel free to devour me. Now get on with it.”

If Anders had something to say to that, it was lost in a moan.

Fenris helped him out of his trousers and smalls, rolling his eyes at the time-consuming process of unlacing Anders’ boots and getting them off his (frankly giant) feet, then lay back and lifted his hips while Anders removed his apparently still amusing underclothes.

There were several moments of silence during which Anders just stared at him, and uncertainty bloomed in Fenris’ stomach, threatening to fill every part of him. Then Anders moved, suddenly, draped himself over Fenris and cupped his face in his hands, no humour or teasing in his voice when he said, “I have never seen anyone even remotely as beautiful as you.”

Fenris cleared his throat. “You have - I have seen you look into mirrors.”

Something flitted through Anders’ eyes, and his voice seemed torn between choking and chuckling. “Maker, how did you get so smooth?”

“That, you shall never find out.”

“Well, _now_ I’m just more curious.”

“It is as you said: I am devious.”

“Mmmm,” Anders nodded, licking across his jaw, “and delicious.”

And before Fenris had a chance to reply, Anders kissed him, with a heat that set his body on fire.

 

They kept kissing, moving with each other. Fenris clung to Anders’ back as the mage’s touches turned from questions to statements, raising new flames in every part of his skin they travelled upon. He could feel the sweat on the mage’s skin, feel Anders’ arousal, hard and insistent against his stomach, his movements becoming urgent, fast and frantic, and he readied himself for Anders to…Although Fenris wasn’t exactly scared, he could not claim to be entirely without tension – but he did want it, and he had no doubt Anders would be gentle with him.

But the mage made no move to prepare him, to open or breach him; he just…grinded against him, pressing their bodies together, his hands moving up instead of down, wrapping themselves around Fenris’ shoulders while his lips sought his in graceless, sloppy kisses.

Their bodies rubbing against each other, endlessly, desperately, almost enough. Anders’ hand sliding between them, grabbing their cocks, bringing them together, moving, making it so much more, frantic, friction….and his voice in Fenris’ ear, whispering, over and over again, “Fenris, Fenris, Fenris,” his name like it was the chant of light.

Fenris had no words to return, every part of him alight, aching with need and pleasure, even the tiniest particle of his being stretched just beyond what he could endure. Then, for only a second, everything curled in tight, sweet tension – and snapped, leaving nothing but bliss and the hoarse, uninhibited cry of a stranger’s voice.

He was still lost in the last vestiges of his release when another cry filled the air, a familiar voice calling out his name, and he felt more sticky wetness spill between them, mingling with his own.

It wasn’t quite night yet, the last greyish remnants of the day still seeping through the windows, yet exhaustion swept over them with an iron grip. Not bothering to get up – or perhaps as incapable of it as Fenris - Anders merely leaned over, grabbed the thin blanket that had fallen to the ground and used it to half-heartedly clean up the worst of the mess they’d made. Once he was satisfied with the rather questionable result, he turned it over, flipped the back end up and pulled it over them, snuggling tightly against Fenris and letting his eyes fall close. Fenris smiled lazily, the corners of his mind already taken over by sleep.

"You shall truly never win an argument on sanitary matters."

He wasn't sure if the mage had heard him, but Anders’ lips curved upwards while his body grew limp and heavy.

”Somehow, winning doesn't seem all that important anymore.”

 

 

When they awoke, the light was once again greyish, morning only slowly beginning to touch the ground. But it wasn’t sight that had woken them, it was sound. The sound of the clinic’s door swinging open and crashing into the wall, to be precise. Fenris startled awake with a jolt at the intruding clamour, Anders’ arm still draped across his chest twitching along, but before he had time to process what he had heard, there was another sound, boots scrunching on dirt, growing louder, approaching – and then stopping abruptly.

“Maker’s breath!”

Fenris’ eyes shot open. Going by the stifled gasp close to his ears, so did Anders’, both of them staring at Hawke, who stood frozen in the centre of the room, staring at them in return.

For a moment, none of them moved. Then, Anders and Fenris both scrambled to their feet as if on cue, frantically trying to cover themselves with the poor excuses Anders had for a blanket and pillow. Fenris felt hot with embarrassment. Anders had let him grab the blanket, so most of his body was covered, but that didn’t make him feel any less exposed. Or any less afraid. Afraid of Hawke’s anger… yet Hawke did not own him. Fenris had every right to be with Anders, whereas Hawke had no right to make him feel like this, and scared as he was, Fenris was also furious with himself for being scared, furious with Hawke for having put him in this position. And somewhere nestled snugly between fear and anger was a feeling of…regret. He had never wanted to hurt his friend. And now he might lose him.

Hawke took a step towards them, then seemed to think better of it.

“I… Sorry for barging in. Guess that’s why you told me to stop picking the locks. I should give you time to get dressed. Fenris, can I speak with you outside for a moment?”

Fenris nodded, not yet trusting himself to speak. Once Hawke had closed the door behind him, he began to frantically search for his armour, but it turned out Anders had already retrieved his leggings and tunic. He handed them over and gently squeezed his hand.

“Are you alright with being alone with him?”

Fenris nodded, struggling to get into his leggings. Anders put a hand on his waist to steady him.

“I’ll be right on the other side of the door if you need me.”

Fenris slipped into his tunic and nodded again. His thoughts were still too much of a jumble to talk, so he put a hand on Anders’ cheek and pressed a soft kiss on his lips, hoping it would be enough to reassure him. Then, he turned and followed Hawke outside.

 

Hawke was leaning against the wall next to the door, hands folded in front of his lap. He started speaking the moment Fenris closed the door behind him, thus at least saving Fenris the trouble of having to come up with a way to start.

“Fenris, I’m so sorry, I had no idea…I mean, yes, you two seemed awfully close, but I didn’t think… Believe me, I didn’t mean to…if I had known…” His hands were moving through the air in wide gestures, as if trying to make every word count twice. “Why didn’t you tell me? You could have trusted me with this…” The stricken look on his face made Fenris’ stomach twist. “I must have made you so uncomfortable the other night…”

The words didn't come out as loud or as forceful as Fenris would have wished, but they did come out.

“I said no.”

Hawke visibly swallowed. “Yes...yes I suppose you did. I thought you were just shy...or unsure because of Isabela. You said it was tempting...and I…I wanted to be romantic, to sweep you off your feet...I mean, it would have been if you had wanted it...”

Fenris felt his teeth gnashing. “If I had wanted it, I would not have expressed desire to leave.”

There was a moment of silence before Hawke nodded, “You’re right, of course you’re right. You did say you wanted to leave. I shouldn’t have kissed you.” His face fell. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel like…”

“You did not.” Fenris swallowed around the lump in his throat. “But it was close.”

Hawke sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and didn’t speak for a long time. When he did, his voice was quiet.

“I never meant to hurt you. I honestly believed you liked me.” He smiled a smile that didn’t really deserve the name. “Or maybe I just hoped you still did...you did like me, once, right?”

“I did.” He shuffled his feet. “I still do, in a different way, but…”

“In _that_ way, you now like Anders.”

“It appears so.”

“I suppose there's no chance of liking...both of us?”

Fenris’ jaw clenched. “No.”

It was met with an, admittedly rather tense, chuckle.

“I fail to see the humour.”

“I’m sorry, it's just...the way your eyes are mauling me right now...if I ever wondered if there might be something between you two...Maker, now I know.”

“Was the way you found us not sufficient?”

Hawke shrugged. “That could have been just sex. This...this looks a lot like love.”

 

It took Fenris a moment to reply, but when he did, he kept his voice firm. “It is.”

 

“I see,” Hawke replied with a curt nod, something in his eyes Fenris’ couldn’t quite place. “In that case, I am happy for you. Both of you.” He huffed out something that might have passed for a laugh, “Can I at least get a hug?”

Fenris hesitated. “Another time.”

He knew Hawke well enough to know that he really hadn’t meant to hurt him, that he most likely just hadn’t thought anything of kissing him, and he also knew that he would eventually forgive him, that in a way, he already had. Yet he could not help feeling that Hawke should, in turn, have known _him_ well enough to realise that he would, in fact, think quite a lot of it. Fenris hadn’t told him as much about his past as he had told Anders but…he had told him enough. He wasn’t ready to quite let go of his anger just yet.

There was a tiny pause before Hawke nodded. “I understand. Whenever you’re ready.” He paused again. “As long as you need.”

Fenris nodded as well and there was another, slightly awkward silence. At last, Hawke sighed and scratched his neck.

“Alright. I guess it’s time to go back in there and…well, I suppose have Anders rip my balls off…”

“I shall protect your testicles,” Fenris said, lips curving into the beginning of a smile, “yet I cannot guarantee he won’t punch you elsewhere.”

“Well, I do kind of deserve it…and he’s a scrawny little thing, how much damage can he do?”

“He’s stronger than he looks,” Fenris replied absently, memories of the way the mage had effortlessly picked him up and laid him on the cot flooding his mind. 

 

Anders had got fully dressed, but aside from that, he didn’t seem to have done anything but wait for them to return. He stood in the centre of the clinic, arms folded across his chest and his face set into a haughty glower. He was eerily quiet.

“So,” Hawke began a little sheepishly when Anders continued to glare in silence, “you probably heard…”

“Oh yes, I heard. You’re making the rounds, I see.” 

“Not quite yet,” Hawke said, spreading his arms as wide as he possibly could and taking a step towards Anders. “Want to help me make it a full circle?”

Anders sidestepped him, expression unchanged. “Unless you'd like to remain winter's grasped right there for the next few hours, I'd suggest rethinking your habit of forcefully sticking your tongue into people.” He probably wouldn’t even need a spell to freeze him; his voice was pure ice itself.

“Hey, that’s not fair. You can’t accuse me of making the rounds and then keep me from completing the circle.” Hawke’s tone was jovial, but his face didn’t seem to be on board.

Anders’ smile held as much sweetness as it did acidity. “You know what, why don’t you come back when you’ve ‘completed’ Aveline?”

Hawke went very still.

“In that, your testicles are on their own,” Fenris supplied flatly from his spot near the entrance.

There was no witty retort; Hawke just chewed on his lip for a few moments. Finally, he said, “I _am_ sorry, Anders.”

“Well, good. You should be. But I won’t just forget this.”

“I’m not expecting you to.”

The silence that followed spread through the room like the contents of one of Varric’s flasks.

Fenris cleared his throat. “Hawke, why did you come here?”

He seemed grateful to have something to say. “Ah, yes, the actual reason for my visit…sorry, I kind of lost track after all that…skin. Anyway, there’s some trouble with bandits on the Wounded Coast. I mean, _trouble_ trouble, not your regular trouble. Aveline asked me to help with the investigation and I wanted to secure my favourite healer’s services – not that I couldn’t use another warrior as well…”

Although he didn’t respond, Anders looked conflicted. Fenris could vividly imagine what was troubling him. He, too, was assaulted by the impulse to say “yes” right away.

He resisted.

“Is our assistance essential? If not, I would prefer to skip this one.”

“Yes, of course, that’s alright; Aveline’s coming along anyway…and I’m sure Merrill will step in for Anders.”

That set the mage into motion. He hurried over to a shelf at the far end of the room and returned a minute later with an arm full of potions, which he held out to Hawke with only a bit of hostility in his posture.

“Take some more healing potions, just in case. It’s better to be prepared when you’re without a healer. And some extra lyrium for Merrill.”

“Thank you. I’ll leave you to it, then.” Hawke started towards the door, but stopped and turned around after a few steps. “Will I see you at Wicked Grace next week?”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Fenris nodded.

Anders remained silent, but nodded as well.

 

As soon as the door had firmly close behind Hawke, Anders muttered, “Jealous bastard.”

“You think he is jealous?”

“Oh please, why do you think he decided to make a move on you _now_ , of all times? That’s just typical; he wants everyone’s attention all the time and when he doesn’t get it, he turns into a Bronto-sized toddler.” He sounded utterly exasperated, but his voice grew softer as he continued, “Fenris, when you were at his place, did he really…?”

Fenris’ brow furrowed. “I told you he kissed me.”

“Yes, but I thought that meant something like he, you know, misread the signals, leaned in, put a little smack on your lips, not trapped you in a corner and started slobbering your face.”

Fenris bit his lip. “He thought it was romantic.”

“Oh? Well then, perhaps I should start bludgeoning him with my staff. _I_ think that would be therapeutic.”

“I…understand the desire. But he meant no harm.”

“That doesn’t make it right. Please tell me you know that. Even if he didn’t mean to, he still hurt you. And in all honesty, he should have bloody well known not to do something like that.”

“I do know it.”

He _did_. It was only a beginning knowledge, not yet fully rooted, but it was there. But more important, and infinitely more startling, was the realisation that...Hawke had not actually hurt him. Of course, his behaviour had made Fenris uncomfortable, had left him unsettled, angry and confused, but it had not opened his wounds the way he would have expected it to.

He fought down a smile. He could tell Anders was still feeling too raw to explain this to him now, but perhaps one day, he would. If he managed to find words to convey just how incredible this simple realization felt: that he was alright. That he _could_ have hugged Hawke when he asked him to. It hadn’t scared him. He had just not wanted to - And what he wanted _mattered_ now; it mattered enough to be placed above his desire not to make Hawke feel bad. _“No.”_ Fenris didn’t _want_ Hawke to feel bad, but perhaps he had to, for a little while, if it meant Fenris could feel this whole. Perhaps Fenris deserved that as much as everyone else.

One day, he would try to explain it, but for now, there was something else that was still troubling him.

“It was not an experience I wish to repeat but…most of all…I was afraid you would be angry.”

“That you were kissed against your will? No. Of course not. But I guess I can’t be surprised you’d think that…I wasn’t exactly on my best behaviour when you came to see me yesterday. I didn’t know what happened; I thought you still wanted him, and that…hurt. I’m sorry I took it out on you.”

“I do not want him.” Fenris hesitated. He didn’t want there to be lies between them, still, he was terrified Anders wouldn’t understand. “Yet…I did kiss him back. At first. I did not mean to.” 

Anders smiled and stroked his cheek. “That it took a few moments to sink in isn’t your fault.” He paused for a second. “And just in case…if a part of you liked it, that isn’t your fault either. Our bodies and minds don’t always agree on everything. And you did have feelings for him once.”

Fenris shook his head. “I did not like it. It just didn’t feel…entirely horrible. At first.”

Anders chuckled. “Well, ‘not entirely horrible kisser’ is a much more fitting title than ‘defeater of the Qunari’ don’t you think? We should try to get that into circulation.”

Eyes gleaming with mischief, smiling at him with all of his face, Anders looked nothing if not lovely. Fenris couldn’t resist pulling him into his arms. “His kisses have nothing on yours. Perhaps it is best we leave it at that.”

Anders raised an eyebrow, but it seemed more in mockery than in accusation. “Plural? Anything else I should know about?”

“No. There was only one. And there will not be more.”

“I hope you mean for him…”

“Yes.”

For a moment, they were left silently staring at each other, bodies still closely entangled. Fenris couldn’t help feeling a little awkward. The previous night had been so full of frenzied passion yet now, he found himself strangely shy again. And it seemed he wasn’t the only one.

“So,” Anders asked slowly, “with all that’s happened…last night went…according to your expectations?”

“I had no expectations. Only hope I feared was foolish. It was far surpassed.” Fenris bit his lip, feeling more than a bit uncertain. It hadn't been like he had thought it would be. Anders had been so hesitant, hadn't demanded anything, had just…been with him. “Although I admit I was surprised we didn’t…have sex.”

Anders smiled. “But we did have sex…there’s more than one way to do that, you know.” His smile gradually surrendered to a frown. “Or were you left unsatisfied?”

“No. It was…more than adequate.” He blushed, Venhedis, he was bad at this. “Thank you.”

“How polite.”

He glared at the mage, but Anders didn’t seem all that impressed; he just bent and kissed his nose. “I’m only teasing. Trust me, you’re not the only one feeling awkward. Not that last night wasn’t perfect, Maker, it was, but there’s no denying things are…different now. It’s still me, though. You know you can talk to me, right? About everything.”

“I just thought we would…”

Anders grinned, “So eager to be inside me? Well, I’m certainly not complaining. And don’t worry, you’ll get your chance to ravish me soon enough.” He winked as his voice dropped in pitch. “And as often as you like.”

Fenris felt colour rising in his cheeks. That…was not actually how he had thought it would go…Although he wasn’t exactly opposed to that course of action either. He was still trying to figure out how to respond when Anders started speaking again.

“So, about last night...what did it mean?”

“What did it...mean?”

This did not exactly lessen his confusion. And it seemed Anders did indeed feel as awkward as he did; Fenris could barely understand him when he mumbled on, “Yes...are we...together now? Or was it just about sex? I don't mean to put you on the spot but...that's something I need to know.”

Fenris felt a smile brave its way through all his shyness and confusion. Anders looked so small, so fragile, eyes locked firmly on his feet, a little more colour in his cheeks than usual. He looked like he…cared. As much as Fenris did. Did he also want what Fenris wanted, wanted so much the thought of losing it made him feel like he was choking? He cleared his throat, “I thought it meant we were together. But I have no right to decide for both of us.”

The mage’s eyes left his feet, and his smile was given freely,happily. “I hoped it meant that, too. But I had to make sure...you know…in case you didn't want to be with me like that.”

“I do. I have wanted it for some time.”

“You have? Maker, I’ve been going crazy over you for months now! And I’ve been dropping hints left and right, but you never reacted. Or you did, but I couldn’t tell if you were just joking. I didn’t know what to do, if there even was a chance…”

“I did not know how to react. I feared you might only be teasing.”

“You thought telling you I wanted to ‘fuck you senseless’ was teasing?”

“It did not seem…unlike you. And apparently _you_ thought I was teasing when I admitted to having thought of you while I….took care of myself.”

“Well, not so much teasing as…I was afraid you were just being kind, you know, indulging my foolish little crush.”

“I meant it.”

“Good, then at least my fantasies of you fantasizing about me weren’t entirely delusional.”

“They were not.”

“Sooooo…what did you imagine?”

For a moment, all Fenris did was blink. “…I walked right into that.”

“Oh yes, you did,” Anders grinned entirely unapologetically.

“Can we…discuss this another time?”

Anders was still grinning with every part of his face. “I take it by ‘another time’ you mean ‘never’?”

“No,” Fenris smiled. “I meant ‘another time’.”

“Alright. Perhaps when we’re a bit more used to…things being different. And for now…We could have breakfast? I could make some tea and we could just eat, and talk, and maybe cuddle a bit? I mean, if cuddling is your thing…”

Fenris smiled. “I have had no chance to find out. But I would like to.”

 

Anders led him over to the shelf that held his supplies. He crumbled some tea into two mugs, heated what little water he had left in his kettle, poured it into them and handed them to Fenris to bring over to his tiny table. He followed soon after, carrying half a loaf of bread and some butter.

“I’m afraid that’s all I have…if I’d known you’d be here, I’d…”

“It will suffice, mage.”

Anders sat down in one of his rickety chairs, folding a little awkwardly on the low seat. Fenris made to sit across from him.

“Would you mind sitting here with me?” Anders asked, scooting a little to the side as Fenris changed direction and walked over to him. After a bit of shifting and rearranging, they managed to find a comfortable position, facing each other, with Fenris’ legs draped across Anders’ lap and Anders’ head nestled between Fenris’ neck and shoulder.

Anders’ meagre supplies lasted surprisingly long, but then again, between soft kisses and gazes that lingered in ways Fenris should have felt embarrassed by, but didn’t, they only managed small bites and even smaller sips. One arm around the other’s waist, the other hand was more often than not too busy brushing through soft hair it was now allowed to touch, or exploring the contours of a face at once well-known and entirely new. They talked a bit about nothing much, and there was no need for more. Around them, the light was ever so slowly getting brighter, and somewhere behind them, the rustle and hum of Darktown getting ready to face yet another day lapped against the doors. Anders’ head on his shoulder, his hair tickling his neck, Fenris felt no desire to move anytime soon. The mage had been quiet for a while, his expression distant – but not sad like it became when his mind wandered to times past. Instead of pain, there was a slightly dazed, other-worldly smile on his face. Fenris gently brushed a few lose strands of hair out of Anders’ eyes.

“What’s on your mind, mage?”

Anders leaned into the touch, burrowing a little deeper into Fenris’ neck.

“Nothing,” he mumbled, “it’s just…you chose me. You really chose _me_ …”

_Would you have chosen him_? Fenris decided not to ask. Perhaps some other time, but for now…Anders had said he wanted him, not Hawke, and Fenris trusted him. What foolish little doubts remained could be dealt with later. There had been too much of Hawke in this morning already. _This_ was just for them.

So he kissed his forehead, softly. “Yes.”

He kissed his nose. “You.”

And his lips. “Anders.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now that you know that he’s truly sublime  
> \- you’ve missed your chance, keep your distance, he’s mine.


	15. Chapter 15

 

Fenris was feeling restless, plopping down, and quickly jumping back off, his bed, bench, chair…and circling back to the bed. He had completed several rounds of this over the last few hours. In between, he had visited the market, bought Anders’ favourite food and procured more of the weak cider Justice hadn’t objected to, but now that that was done, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He seemed to be incapable of sitting still for even a minute, drunk on a giddy, bouncing happiness, still not quite able to believe it, occasionally pinching himself, reliving the events of the day…the night…reassuring himself that yes, that really, really had happened. Anders and he were together. _Together_.

If only he knew how that…worked. What exactly it entailed. Could he just visit him at the clinic when he missed him? Or did they set dates as they used to? How often would he get to see him? Where would they sleep? Could he kiss Anders whenever he wanted to? Were there…rules? And if so, how was he supposed to learn them?

He sighed. It was no use; he wouldn’t be able to solve this on his own – he was entirely out of his element with this. He needed to talk to someone, to ask for advice. Yet while his friends would certainly be willing to help (well, first they’d probe, then they’d tease, then they’d help), the truth was: the person he really wanted to talk to, the person he trusted most, was…Anders. And Anders _had_ said they could talk about everything. Perhaps that wasn’t how it was done, perhaps he was supposed to get advice from someone else from now on, but what good was being together if it meant losing their way of talking? Of truly _sharing_ things, feeling cared for, understood. Safe. It had taken them so long to get there, for words to become bonds, not weapons; Fenris had fought so hard to keep it – he wasn’t going to let go of it now.

Also, he wanted to see him. Badly. He had started the day in Anders’ arms, and now that it was nearing its end – that was where he wanted to be again.

Of course, he would have preferred to spend the hours in between in his embrace as well, alas, it wasn’t to be. They had remained nestled tightly against each other in Anders’ chair long after finishing breakfast, talking a little and kissing a lot, and Fenris would have been content to never get up again, but more and more people started knocking on the door and despite Anders’ valiant efforts of feigning obliviousness, Fenris could tell he was becoming increasingly anxious. He played along for a while, pretending Anders’ pretence was successful, yet found that the mage’s uneasiness was slowly seeping over into him – he wanted Anders to enjoy their time together, and as things were, he would hardly be able to. As the mage had told him time and time again, the people outside had nowhere else to go. Of course, they could just come back later, yet there was always the possibility that without Anders’ help, for some of them _later_ would cease to exist.

Therefore, annoying as it was considering they had only just refused to be dragged to the wounded coast, thereby gaining a few days of quiet for themselves, he started to disentangle himself from Anders’ embrace.

”I should go. You have work to do.”

“No, I don’t. Really…I would have been out with Hawke otherwise. I can take a day off.” The mage grabbed his arm, lightly tugging him back down.

“You can, and you will. In fact, I will make sure you take more than one. But judging by the constant banging out there, something has happened. And you are anxious to help. It is no problem. I had some errands planned for today. Take care of those who need urgent assistance, and we will see each other later.”

For a moment, Anders looked as if he was about to protest, but then his features softened. He didn’t let go of Fenris’ arm though, in fact, the tugging turned into a very determined pull. Fenris, who toppled back into Anders’ lap, was now in turn about to protest, yet was silenced by means of a very thorough kiss.

“One for the road,” the mage whispered when they parted. He kissed him again, only a brief flutter of his lips against Fenris’, and smiled. “Thank you, Fenris. I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve you but…Thank you.”

So Fenris had left, and although he had no doubt it had been what Anders needed, he couldn’t help wishing he had stayed. If he hadn’t left, there would have be no need to return, and he wouldn’t be feeling like a clueless lump of foolishness now. He made his way through Darktown, growing more and more uncertain the closer he got to the clinic. He lingered at the entrance for a moment, unsure if he should go in. Eventually, longing prevailed over fear, and he pushed open the door.

The room was still full of patients. However most of them seemed to have already been taken care of and were simply resting for a while, regaining strength. Anders was standing over a cot, putting the finishing touches to a large bandage. He lifted his head as Fenris approached, and the way his face lit up when he saw him somehow made everything alright…Right in the middle of a group of patients, Anders reached out and tenderly grasped Fenris’ hand in his, the loveliest smile on his face, shy and tired, yet so full of warmth and hope it made Fenris feel like his chest was caught in an Ogre’s grip.

“It's so good to see you. I meant to drop by at your place hours ago but...it's been a busy day…”

“I can see that.” Fenris gave the mage’s hand a soft squeeze, staring at him uncertainly. Was he allowed to kiss him? He really wanted to kiss him. “Take the time you need to finish.”

“I’m almost done. There’s only a handful of patients left, and the actual ‘healing’ part’s been dealt with. The ones that remain only need some bandaging and a few potions. I promise, I won’t keep you waiting for long.”

“You do not have to hurry for me. I came here unannounced.”

Anders smiled at him. “You say that like it’s a bad thing…you have no idea just how much seeing you has brightened my day. And we did say we would meet up later.”

“I…was not sure how that worked. I hoped it would be acceptable for me to come here. I,” he swallowed a little around the words, trying to cover it up with a smile, “missed you.”

“I missed you too…And I really, really want to be alone with you, so I’ll just finish this up and usher everyone out. Why don’t you just sit over…there while you’re waiting?” He gestured to a cot…A very _specific_ cot, which happened to be the only one in the room that was empty. Fenris briefly wondered if Anders had purposely kept his patients from occupying it, but the glint in the mage’s eyes and the crinkles around them made asking unnecessary. Warmth coursed all through his body as he awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Ah…yes. I can do that.”

 

True to his word, Anders had everyone patched up and out of the room soon after. Considering how gentle he usually was with his patients, Fenris had been surprised at how firm his voice got when some of them claimed they were too exhausted to leave. He had been perched on the edge of the cot, ready to jump in and defend him if Darktown’s finest got rowdy (Anders hadn’t told him what exactly had happened, but from the look of the clientele, trouble involving the Carta and the Coterie seemed a safe enough guess), but it turned out the mage could handle himself. No one laid a finger on him and although there were several muffled complaints, once Anders crossed his arms in front of his chest and raised his eyebrows, those quickly died down as well.

“I am _so_ taking the next days off,” Anders muttered when he bolted the door shut behind them and leant his forehead against it for moment.

Fenris walked up to him. “You look exhausted. And hungry.”

“I am; I haven’t had time to go to the market yet.”

“I bought some food for you earlier.” He paused, realizing he had forgotten to bring it with him. “I left it at the mansion.”

Anders pushed himself off the door and turned to face him, his grin spreading from one ear to the other. “Is that an elaborate scheme to get me into your bed?”

“Are you saying that merely takes food?” Fenris smirked back at him.

“Well, food and _you_ …Which reminds me…there was something I still needed to do...” He wrapped his arms around Fenris and brought their lips together.

“Aah, much better,” he sighed when he pulled back. 

Fenris was about to nod his agreement, but then realized that since Anders had just kissed him, there was certainly no reason why he couldn’t kiss him as well. So he did. And while Anders had merely let their lips caress each other in a soft greeting, Fenris proceeded to devour the mage’s, opening them, tasting his mouth, letting his tongue convey the longing he didn’t trust his words to express.

“Looks like I’m not the only one who’s hungry,” Anders smiled against his lips once Fenris gave them a moment to breathe. He winked at him. “Enjoyed your time on the cot?”

“Not as much as I could have. It was sorely lacking your company.”

Anders pulled back with a faint chuckle. “Well, I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. Although perhaps we _should_ go to your mansion? You mentioned food, and you know me…I get very cooperative when I’m being fed…”

“Are you finished here?” Fenris nodded at the clinic behind them.

“I do need to clean up, but that can wait until tomorrow. I’m too famished to deal with the mess that lot left right now.”

“I was surprised to see how quickly they left when you told them to.”

Anders shrugged. “I suppose a couple of years of seeing to their wounds has taught them it’s better not to piss off the healer… Well, either that or they don’t want to lose the bribes Varric so absolutely doesn’t pay them to leave me alone. It might of course also be my irresistible charm.”

“Remind me to thank Varric.”

“What, you’re not even going to consider the other options?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow, deliberately keeping his face blank. “As far as I recall, free insults were a benefit of feeding you…Although I would be willing to consider replacing them with kisses.”

Anders raised both eyebrows, completely failing to keep his grin in check. “ _All_ of them? I mean, I’m not complaining, but that might mean we’ll starve.”

Fenris nodded gravely. “Perhaps half of them is the safer option.”

Anders had apparently given up on trying to control his grin, letting it spread out over his entire face as he slowly shook his head. “If you don’t stop being so adorable, we’ll never make it out of here.”

“A… _dorable_?”

“Oh yes,” Anders placed a soft kiss on his furrowed brow and another one on his nose, “the cutest scrunchy-faced elf anyone has ever seen. And we’re together now, so you have to listen to me saying things like that, without scowling….Well, I suppose scowling isn’t really something I can forbid, but you can’t punch me for it, and you can’t make me stop. I’m sorry, that’s just how it is.” He kissed his nose again.

Fenris very much doubted Anders was anything even remotely similar to “sorry”, but his cheerful smirking was endearing and in all honesty…the fuzzy warmth Anders’ words sent through his chest wasn’t something that needed to be apologized for. “I shall accept my fate with dignity. We should move on.”

Anders nodded, and after he had kissed Fenris’ nose at least a dozen more times, they left for Fenris’ mansion.

 

Despite the day rapidly nearing its end, Darktown was still buzzing with activity, noise and people accompanying their walk to the lift, yet by the time they reached Hightown, the sun had set, leaving only the occasional stragglers on their path. Anders reached an arm around Fenris’ shoulder and carefully pulled him close, leaning against him as they kept walking. Fenris wriggled his own arm out from in between their bodies and wrapped it tightly around the mage’s waist. They were moving at a leisurely pace, still quite a distance from the mansion yet taking their time to get there, and Fenris slowly began to relax. He was still confused, still uncertain, but with Anders’ warmth and breath so close, calm spread through him all the same. They would figure it out; Fenris was sure of it. And now was as good a time to talk as any. At least, the mage would not be distracted by food.

“You said we could talk about everything.”

Pressed against each other as they were, Fenris could feel the tension that took hold of Anders’ body, even as his voice remained perfectly calm. “Yes, of course. Anytime, no matter what. Is there something bothering you? Did I…do something?”

“No! It is nothing like that. You have been…perfect. But I am afraid I am not. I want us to be together, yet I do not know how that is done. I am in need of….guidance.”

The tension vanished, and although Fenris couldn’t see it from his angle, he could hear the smile in Anders’ voice.

“Well first, let me be clear on one thing: you _are_ perfect. I mean, this is all new for you, no wonder it’s a little overwhelming. You can always ask me if there are things you’re uncertain about.” He chuckled. “Though I’m not sure of how much use I can be; I don’t exactly have much experience with this either. I just read a lot of books a long time ago.”

“What about...Karl?” The moment the question left his mouth, Fenris wished he could take it back. While he was curious why the mage claimed to have little experience when he had been with that man for years, he remembered all too well how much it hurt Anders to talk about him. In all honesty, hearing about Karl hurt Fenris a little as well, although he knew it was foolish to be jealous of a dead man. But Karl had known Anders before…Before life had scarred him. Or at least before some of the scarring. He had known an Anders Fenris would never get to meet. 

There was a brief moment of hesitation, but then Anders merely leaned into him a bit more closely and sighed.

“It’s different in the Circle. You don’t have a room for yourself, and with the Templars watching every move you make, you have to wrest even the tiniest moment of happiness from their grasp. Karl meant so much to me, and still….It felt like we spent more time hiding the fact that we were together than actually being together. Which is something I was…hoping you and I wouldn’t…do…”

“We will not.”

“So you don’t mind telling the others about us?”

Fenris couldn’t help snorting a little. “Hawke knows, mage. That means soon, they will all know. Most likely, they already do.”

“Then I guess for once, I have to be grateful for Hawke’s big mouth…”

“It does save us the trouble of informing them.” Feeling the mage slightly tense up again, he added. “But should he manage to resist, I will tell them myself. I am with you because I want to be. That is not something I wish to hide.”

“Not ashamed to be seen with a mage?” Anders joked. Or rather, he wasn’t joking at all - Fenris had heard him fall into that tone of voice often enough to know that he was actually looking for reassurance.

“At this point, I assume every single resident of this city has seen me and said mage together on what they considered to be dates. Would I allow that if I was ashamed?”

Instead of a reply, he got a noisy kiss on his head, followed by Anders’ ruffling his hair by burying his nose in it.

“Do not mistake this for shame, but you might want to stop before you walk into a wall.”

“Wouldn’t my elven hero stop me in time?”

“I am undecided. You do look funny when you stumble.”

“Hey, I might break my nose!”

“Hardly, since it is currently in my hair. And if you did, you could heal it.”

“It would still hurt.”

“Then may I suggest you simply watch where you’re going? You can assault my hair all you like when we’re at the mansion.”

“Oh, I will,” Anders said, finally turning his head back towards the street. “It’s just so incredibly soft.”

Fenris smiled. “You keep saying that.”

“Well, because it keeps being true.” After a few moments of walking in silence he added, “So, what questions did you have?”

“Questions…?”

“Yes, you said you needed guidance – and we somehow wound up talking about my worries instead…But I’m here for you, whatever it is that’s troubling you.”

“I…was uncertain if I could come see you without invitation today. Or, in general.”

“Of course you can. You’re always welcome.”

“You are usually busy. I might get in the way.”

“I’d say the clinic’s big enough to fit you in there somewhere even if I’m working,” Anders said with a smile. “I can’t promise you’ll never have to wait or that I’ll always have time, but you don’t ever have to worry about me not wanting you there.”

“We do not set setting specific times, then?”

“We can do that too…Would you prefer that? If you don’t want me just dropping by at your mansion, we can…”

“Feel free to drop by, mage,” Fenris gently interrupted Anders’ nervous babbling. “Any time. You are just as welcome there. I was merely asking if we would also set specific dates like we used to.”

“I guess it’ll be a bit of both, depending on what else is going on with Hawke and the others…his little missions often take us out of town for several days. And he’s not exactly big on announcing them in advance.”

“Baseless slander. He always gives us at least five minutes to pack.”

“Ten if he feels particularly generous,” Anders nodded. “By the way, thanks for telling him to find someone else this time. I would have refused to go as well, but there would have been a lot more yelling involved. After what happened… I'm glad we can take a little break from him. From all of them, really. Call me greedy, but I'd like to hog you for a few days before I have to share you again.”

“And I you.”

They remained quiet for a few moments, but Fenris could feel the mage’s gaze lingering on his face. When Anders spoke again, his voice was quiet. “What’s on your mind, Fenris? I can practically smell you brooding.”

“I…you mentioned Hawke, and I could not help thinking… What happened between us that night, your reaction when I came to see you… A few weeks ago, that would have led to us never speaking to each other again. We would merely have yelled, and I would have stormed off.”

Anders smiled at him, a touch of sadness in it. “A few weeks ago, you wouldn’t have said no to him.”

Fenris shook his head. “Several months ago, perhaps. A few weeks ago, no. I was already…thinking of you. But I would have lost you anyway”

Anders leaned over and pressed a kiss on his temple, squeezing their bodies together tightly. “I wish I could deny that with certainty, but you’re right, we might have destroyed everything. But we _didn’t_. We’re here. We’re together.”

Fenris nodded, leaning into Anders touch. He knew the mage was right, knew it was foolish to fret about things that _could_ have happened, but the terror he had felt at the very real possibility of losing Anders was still too fresh in his mind…And that was foolish too, considering that, instead of losing anything, he had gained so much. He sighed. “I apologize, mage. I should not have brought it up.”

“I said we could talk about _everything_ , remember,” Anders said, playfully pinching his waist. “And I understand. When I heard he wanted to take you home, I was completely devastated. I was so sure I’d lose you…It still hasn’t entirely sunk in that I didn’t. I guess that’ll simply take time…” He pinched Fenris’ waist again. “But for now, let’s get back to happier things. What else did you want to ask about? I doubt my visiting hours were the only thing troubling you.”

So Fenris asked his questions, and although the trip wasn’t long enough to cover them all, he felt significantly less unsure about things by the time they reached his mansion.

 

“Do you want to wait upstairs or do you want to start carrying things over while I prepare the rest?”

“I’ll keep you company in the kitchen if you don’t mind, but we’ll have to take the food upstairs together; I still can’t find the way on my own.”

Fenris smiled. “That needs to be rectified. I will show you around later.”

“I’d like that.”

“As it will enable you to reach my supplies on your own, I imagine you would.”

Anders huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “You really know me too well.”

“Actually, I was hoping to get to know you even better.”

“I’d certainly like _that_ too….And now stop being all cute and lovely and feed me already, so we can finally get to the insults and kisses part.”

“As you wish,” Fenris grinned and began to prepare the food.

“Maker, you got all of my favourites!” Anders exclaimed when his eyes fell on Fenris’ purchases, his voice full of unadulterated awe.

 

Anders favourites were quickly prepared, quickly carried upstairs, and once there, devoured at a speed that was impressive even by Anders’ standards. Fenris watched him with an amused smile, working through his own, significantly smaller, share at a much slower pace. Unlike the mage, he had had time to eat during the day, so there was no need to hurry – which didn’t mean he in any way objected to getting through the “feeding” part at a faster rate than they usually did. They were sitting across from each other and while that was certainly wise under the circumstances, it also put a lot more distance between them than Fenris would have liked… Anders had said Fenris was more than welcome to kiss him whenever he wanted to, and right now, he very, very much wanted to.

Thus, when the mage had finally finished his meal and leaned back sipping on his bottle of cider, Fenris walked over to him and crawled into his lap, straddling him, wrapping his arms around his neck, tasting the cider, and the smile, on his lips.

“Let me put that down first, so I can properly hold you.” Anders pulled back a little and, with a little bending and flailing, managed to place the bottle on the table. As soon as his hands were free, Fenris kissed him again, and the mage leaned into his caresses, moaning softly as he opened his mouth for him. They dived into a stream of deep, hungry kisses that seemed to have neither end nor beginning, each one seamlessly blending into the next. Anders’ hands were on his back; his fingers found the uncovered skin beneath the fastenings of his amour and slid over it, their pace tantalizingly slow, teasing along the curve of his spine and Fenris gasped, tangling his hands in the mage’s hair as his hips bucked against him. When Anders’ leisurely worked his fingers beneath the leather, trailing heat across even more of his skin, Fenris broke the kiss.

“We…would have more room on the bed.”

Anders’ fingers didn’t stop their caresses. “I don’t mind having to snuggle up to you...and this chair is quite comfortable.” He smiled and made to kiss him again, but Fenris pulled back, brow furrowed.

“You hesitate again. Do you not desire me?”

The smile on Anders’ face crumpled. “Fenris, I _do_ …Maker, I want you more than you can imagine, more than I’ve ever wanted anyone...”

“Mage, if this is because of my past, there is no need to…”

“It isn’t,” Anders interrupted him gently. “I mean, there are things to consider there, but that’s not what this is about.” He smiled, a bit sheepishly. “I just really want this to work and like I said, we can take our time…Plus, we’ve had so many pretend ‘dates’, and I know it’s technically a bit too late for that, but I was hoping we could maybe have a…real one before we start spending the night?”

He looked so shy and hopeful, all Fenris wanted to do was wrap his arms around him and keep him there forever, keep him safe. Instead, he smiled.

“As you wish.”

“Really?” Anders sat up a bit, face alight. “Because I had something planned…Does tomorrow work for you? I know it's silly, but...”

Fenris grinned. “Tomorrow’s fine. And if I was opposed to silly, I would not have chosen you.”

“Well, I’m glad you at least know what you’re getting yourself into. Or rather,” he whispered right into Fenris’ ear in that breathy way of his that never failed to make heat shoot all through Fenris’ body, “who you’ll be getting _into_.”

Fenris swallowed hard, only managing a nod yet internally vowing to one day make the mage pay for this cruelty.

Anders grinned. “Meet me at the clinic at the usual time tomorrow…and wear something nice.” He winked. “And for now…I’d like a few more kisses before I go.”

“You shall have them.”


	16. Chapter 16

“This place looks familiar.”

“Really? I wonder why that could be,” Anders said with not-very-believable astonishment (even if his voice hadn’t given him away, his grin would have taken care of that) as he stopped in the doorway, bowed, and gestured to the entrance hall. “After you, Serrah.”

Fenris walked past him with slightly raised eyebrows, not sure if he should laugh or shake his head. The mage grinned, sauntered past him with a wink and went to check his coat, revealing a very nice, very black outfit, which clung to his arse quite marvellously. The sight brought a smile to Fenris’ face and a rush of memories to his mind…a lot of which were of Anders complaining about exactly this “monochrome monstrosity”. Or of Anders complaining in general. But there was also Anders giving him his coat, telling him his eyes were stunning. It seemed so long ago. Had that really been them?

“This also looks familiar.”

Anders beamed. “Good, I was wondering if you’d recognize it….So, now you probably understand why I was grinning like an idiot when I saw the clothes you were wearing.”

“Do they still bring out my eyes?”

“Oh yes….although your eyes don’t actually need any help to be breathtaking. But well, I guess now I can safely say it, they also highlight other parts of your…physique….quite nicely,” Anders said with a playfully challenging smirk.

Fenris nodded, deliberately calm. “I have always enjoyed the way those clothes frame your arse. Like a masterpiece just waiting to be cupped.”

While the way Anders flushed at his words gave Fenris the satisfaction of having beaten his challenge, the torturous heat that exploded in his groin when a low groan rose from the back of the mage’s throat made it a sort of double-edged win….He cleared his throat.

“Perhaps we should go inside.”

“Well, not quite yet, we have to get some snacks first – we can’t have the same place and the same clothes but not the same food.”

“Of course. What was I thinking,” Fenris said as they got in line.

Anders chuckled. “I almost wish Varric were here; I can just _hear_ him add ‘the elf said sarcastically’.”

“And the elf adds, sarcastically, that he was hoping it would take at least a week before you wanted to invite other people to our dates.”

Anders pulled him flush against his side. “Don’t worry, a lifetime isn’t nearly long enough for that to happen. This is just for us.” He fell silent for a moment. When he continued, the smile had vanished from his face. “I hope it’s alright that I took you here. We don’t have to stay; if it makes you uncomfortable, just say the word. There are plenty of other places we can go, and I know the last time you were here was with Hawke. I just felt this was _our_ place. I didn’t want him to take it away, because, well, this is where it all started, where we became…us… Well, sort of….slowly…but it was a start…”

It had been only a week ago, yet Fenris had completely forgotten that he had, indeed, been here with Hawke. It didn’t matter. They had been in this place, but they hadn’t filled it with memories - There had been no room; every single corner had already belonged to Anders. He smiled and leaned a little more into the mage’s side.

“I spent most of the time I was here with him thinking of you. There is nothing uncomfortable about this place. It is ours.”

Anders was still holding him close, his hand idly stroking Fenris’ side and stomach. “I’m glad you agree. Sure, it’s a pompous waste of coin lacking any trace of taste, but it seems to be out lucky place… just look at us now. I have no idea how we managed to get this far, but I’ll forever be grateful.”

“We chose to be civil. How that came to pass is a mystery indeed.” He smiled. “Although if memory serves, you were unusually accommodating that night.”

“Well, so were you.”

Fenris sighed, “I do not wish to fight, but it was more unusual for you. You hated me, then.”

Anders’ hand found his and squeezed it tightly. “I didn’t hate you, Fenris.”

“Mage, I know things are different now, but I am no fool…”

Anders didn’t let him finish. “I just chose not to see you. _You_ , who you really were. I clung to this spiteful image of you, collected every shred of behaviour that supported it, no matter how tiny, and ignored everything else. It was easier this way. There was hate, or something close to it, but it was never truly about you…”

“It felt like it was.” His voice was smaller than he wanted it to be.

“I know, and I am so sorry. I wish I could undo it. If there was a way to go back, I would, and slap my past self right across the face while I’m at it.”

“Should you ever find a way, please, let me do the honour,” Fenris said in a tone he hoped would convey playfulness. It did hurt to remember, yet he had told Anders he had forgiven him months ago, and he had meant it. They weren’t what they had been then, and more than anything, he wanted to let it go.

Anders squeezed his hand once more and grinned. “A bit early to bring out the kinky stuff, but anything for you, darling.”

 

With everyone who had stood in line before them idling into the main hall at the slowest pace imaginable, it took them a while to get to their seats. Anders had had to let go of him to pay (with actual coin from his actual pocket) for their food, and now needed both hands to hold the bowl. Fenris was carrying the rest - Anders had insisted on buying everything they’d had the first time they’d been here, all at once - and scanning the crowd.

“So, now we’ve got the right food as well,” the mage said, smiling brightly. “It’s not a premiere, this time, though” That was probably the reason there were few familiar faces. The really big names in the city probably didn’t content themselves with regular performances. Anders kept chattering on animatedly, “And also not the same play; they don’t have that one on their programme anymore...which is probably for the best, I’m not sure I would have managed to sit through it a second time without setting the place on fire. Although I might still do that; this one seems to have just about the same magic-hating tone – shocking I know. But at least it’s not the one Hawke dragged you to, so it’ll be new for both of us. It’s called ‘The Abominable Emerald’. A possessed apostate, again. Magic experiment gone wrong, again. The valiant Templars to the rescue, again. Apparently, there’s a lot of smashing involved...But at least this time, we’ll truly suffer through it _together_ …and if things get too horrible, I can always hold your hand.” He sent an exaggerated wink in his direction.

Fenris answered with a smile, which took a turn towards smirk when his eyes fell on the bowl. “True. And this time, I won't be alone with the tingling.”

“The…tingling?”

“Yes. There was a tingling sensation every time our hands touched in the bowl. It was odd.”

“You felt tingling,” Anders said with an infuriatingly wide grin.

Fenris sighed. “Yes, yes, laugh at me.”

“Well, I'd love to, but I can't - I felt it too. I thought it was just me...and back then, I really wondered what in the bloody void was wrong with me.” His face took on a faraway, wistful expression. “You felt it too...”

When they reached the main room, Anders broke off from the throng of people trickling inside and nodded towards the rows in the back. “Where would you like to sit? You can pick anywhere in the last seven rows. Well, unless someone’s already sitting there. That might get a bit awkward.”

Since none of the aisle seats were available, Fenris settled for the middle of the third row from the back. Anders plopped down beside him, almost spilling the contents of the bowl.

“I couldn’t afford seats in our usual row. The front is ridiculously expensive. I hope that’s alright….the view isn’t all that good from here.”

“It’s fine, mage.” He hesitated for a moment, but worry won over in the end. “How did you manage to pay for this at all?”

Anders looked a little sheepish. “I’ve been saving up since…,” his face turned bright red, “… well, let’s just say for quite a while. I wanted to properly ask you out and, you know, have our first date where we had our first ‘date’; I just wasn’t sure what you’d say…”

“I know the feeling.”

“You do?” The mage turned in his seat to face him, all perked-up.

“Yes. I had planned to take you to dinner, but I was too much of a coward to ask.”

“I would have loved that…an actual dinner date…I would have screamed yes right away; I wouldn’t even have let you finish the question…”

“Tomorrow night, then. I will pick you up at your clinic.” Fenris grinned. “Feel free to wear these trousers again.”

Anders’ eyes gleamed. “You know, I have another pair that’s even tighter…”

“In that case, feel free to wear those instead.”

 

They had finished off most of their food long before the last visitor sat down, but agreed to save the bowl for the play. Contrary to Anders’ fears, Fenris found he rather preferred to sit in the back. Although most of the people around them still looked distinctly “Hightown”, they were obviously not rich or important enough to be in the front, or to have been to any of the events Hawke had sent them to, which meant he could feel at least moderately anonymous. Well, lyrium and ears aside. And for as far as he was concerned, the amicable hum of endless chatter in that part of the crowd was infinitely less annoying than the permanently scandalized, obnoxiously loud “whispers” that tended to dominate the front. He could indeed not see the stage all that well, but considering the usual quality of plays in this city, he suspected that, too, could be counted as a plus.

Anders seemed more at ease here as well, happily sprawled out in his seat and commemorating the spirit of their first visit by commenting on every ridiculous outfit that walked past them. Occasionally, Fenris threw in a barb of his own, but mostly he was content to just lean back, chuckling and studying Anders’ profile, a sight he kept prioritizing even when the play finally started. He glanced at the mage every time their hands brushed against each other in the bowl, and each time, he caught Anders smiling softly.

Though different in name, the play managed to be just as horrible as the one they’d watched on their first visit. Anders had been right: there was an absurd amount of green paint and smashing involved, at least during the parts Fenris managed to pay attention to, which weren’t all that many. His thoughts kept wandering off…

They were on a date. A _real_ one. He smiled, remembering how Anders had first brought up the term. Fenris had never given these matters much thought, what Anders referred to as “dating etiquette” wasn’t exactly something they taught to slaves, or that helped you stay alive on the run, but even on this first night they had spent alone with each other, had been _forced_ to spend alone with each other, it had been evident how much these things, goodnight kisses and etiquette and grand gestures, meant to the mage. After all, the mere idea of it being like a date had excited him enough to make him…friendly.

Anders had told him a lot about the books he had read on the subject during the first events Hawke had sent them to, before they had started talking about…other things. Fenris didn’t remember all of it, but he remembered the longing in Anders’ voice with painful clearness… His mind drifted further, to the last days, the ones they’d been together…only two days…three if the night before them counted as well…which Fenris decided it did. For him, things had been clear with their first kiss, and that night…He had learned so much about Anders over the last months, but in that night, Fenris had also learned things about himself. The most baffling discovery: He liked sex - Anders had said that was what they had been sharing, and the more Fenris had thought about it, the more he had come to think he was right. And Fenris had _enjoyed_ it.

It wasn’t like pleasure had been entirely unknown to him, but it had never come without a price. Shame. Confusion. Fear. Even when he was spared pain, there were still threats wrapped in the tenderness. There had never been a choice, and finding pleasure in what was demanded of him had only made it worse, a poisonous gift, as muddled and murky as the control he had been taught was affection. He had bought into the lie for much too long, had not known enough not to, but there had always been this creeping, stifling sense of...wrongness, leaving him to slowly choke on the words he didn’t yet possess to name it. There had been nothing like that with Anders. Awkward, yes. Confusing, a little scary even, yes. But never wrong.

Their hands hadn’t always known what to do, their noses bumped, their bodies slipped...and the only consequence had been giggles. There was no control, no detachment. Anders was _with_ him. What they did, they did together. Even without ever having known it before, Fenris had instantly recognised care when he was shown it. It wasn’t the first time he had felt pleasure - but it was the first time his pleasure mattered. Anders wanted him to enjoy it, wanted it as much, if not more, as he wanted his own pleasure, and nothing had prepared Fenris for how that felt, for how it changed things - or for how it felt to be truly desired. The way Anders had looked at him made him shiver even just remembering it, and to know he only had to kiss him to see it again… He couldn’t claim to really understand why Anders wanted to wait, why he wanted to deny himself something that felt so _good_. Fenris only wanted more of it, wanted to gorge himself on it, explore all the new ways of pleasure Anders could show him, but the mage had seemed concerned, and Fenris didn’t need to know the reason; he could sense it was important…And there were so many other things Fenris could do with him, wanted to do with him, like kiss him, cuddle as they had during breakfast (as he had also learned, cuddling was indeed very much “his thing”), hold his hand, share meals and laugh and play cards and talk and tease and just look at him...and he could do all of these now. He could kiss him; he was _allowed_ to kiss him any time he wanted to.

He reached across the bowl, took Anders’ hand in his, interlaced their fingers and gently caressed his palm. If the mage wanted them to "take their time", they would. And while they waited, Fenris would court him like in the books the mage loved so much. He remembered enough of what Anders had told him to start, and he would ask his friends for more information on how to do it right. Anders had dreamed of going on dates for so long - Fenris wanted to give him that, show the mage he had been wrong to think that part of his life was over. It was only just beginning. Fenris would give him all the dates he had ever dreamed of, and he would never stop, not for as long as they lived.

He forced his attention back to the stage, where the brilliant and noble Templars were just coming up with a brilliant and noble plan to put an end to all the smashing, obedient, grateful Circle mages nodding at their every word and offering their help to take down the dangerous apostate who had so foolishly refused the generous protection the Templars offered their feeble minds. He wondered how Anders was handling this, but when he chanced a look out of the corner of his eye, he found him to be smiling.

 

 

Anders was still smiling when the first half of the play ended and people started pushing past them to, presumably, get to the food vendors.

“Should we go get more too? It’s on me….and I’ve saved up enough, so you can have anything you like.”

Fenris raised their still intertwined hands. “I doubt that will be necessary. I have more important things to occupy my hands with than food.”

The mage nodded. “Alright. If you change your mind, we’ll just get some when we leave and eat it on our way home.” His face was still alight, but he seemed a little distracted.

“You look remarkably content,” Fenris teased, “Are you enjoying the play this much?”

“Oh yes, nothing gets me like a narrative that tells me I’m an uncontrollable monster that should be _grateful_ to the people who want to lock it up for being born,” Anders huffed, albeit with noticeably little heat.

“I was indeed wondering how you managed to look happy sitting through this.”

“Well, I didn’t really pay attention most of the time… I was too busy staring at my handsome date, repeating to myself that it’s no longer a joke…You actually are my date now.”

“That is true.”

“I’m on a date with my boyfriend.”

“That is also true.”

Anders smiled, staring off into the distance. “I never thought I’d get to properly experience that…And you know what the best part about it is?”

“I have a feeling no force in the world would be able to stop you from telling me,” Fenris said dryly, but he allowed a little smile to betray his amusement. Anders looked so happy – and they had been thinking about the same things, which somehow made everything even more wonderful.

“That said boyfriend is _you_.”

He felt oddly flustered. “I…that is good.”

“I’m glad you agree. I’d want no one else here with me.”

“Not even Hawke?” Fenris attempted a joke…or was it one?

“No. He’s a good friend - or a complete dick, I'm still on the fence about that – nothing more. I know I was crushing on him like mad, but that was all it ever really was - a _crush_ , a fantasy to cling to. _You_ are… honestly, I love you so much; no one could ever compare.”

Fenris’ elegant and well-worded reply was…to gape at him.

Anders’ face fell. “Too soon? I’m sorry; if you need more time that’s perfectly fine…You know me, I’m a little on the gushy side.” He shifted in his seat, avoiding Fenris’ eyes. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

There was silence. And then there was more silence. Finally, Fenris found the courage to speak, his voice subdued and his heart filled with dread. “It’s not about time. Or about what I feel. Which I…do. But those words…” He hesitated, briefly, before he pushed through, for better or worse. “They held a different meaning in my past. I have not yet managed to process the new one. I am…not sure if I can say them, I…”

Anders, who had been the embodiment of distraught at the beginning of Fenris’ reply was smiling brightly now. “I believe you just did.”

“I…” Fenris stopped in his tracks.

“Or did I misread that?” It was asked softly, without any traces of teasing, or the accusation Fenris had feared so much. 

“You did not. It was the intent. But not the correct words.”

“We’ll come up with another expression for it.” Anders moved his fingers against Fenris’ in a tender caress. “I’d prefer that to using words that once brought you pain.”

“What happened to proper etiquette?” Fenris teased, at least as much as he could tease while feeling deadly serious. This might have been too much to ask of Anders.

“That was fun for getting you, but now that I have you, there’s more to be said for finding our own way.” Anders flinched, “Sorry! Maker, that came out wrong; I didn’t mean it like that, of course I don’t _have_ you, I…”

“You do, mage. I am yours.”

Fenris had about two seconds to enjoy the sight of Anders staring at him wide-eyed, then the mage leaned over and kissed him, deeply, completely ignoring the people around them. For a moment, Fenris wondered idly whether the people in the front would notice, and if so, whether Hawke would still be pleased to hear their scandalized complaints after all that had happened. He found he didn’t really care too much about either answer, and he let himself get lost in the heat of Anders’ mouth.

When they finally parted, Anders whispered, “I am yours too.” He paused. “And I believe we may have found our words.”

 

It wasn’t really cold outside, but Anders insisted on draping his coat over Fenris’ shoulders anyway, “For old times’ sake.”

“Although this time,” he added after a moment, “I should be the one to walk you home.”

Fenris firmly shook his head. “You don’t have your staff. I will not let you walk back to Darktown without it.”

“But this is my date for you…I want to take care of you the way you deserve…”

“And when we are in a place that lets you bring your weapon, you are free to do so.” Fenris grabbed the mage’s collar, pulled his face down far enough for him to be able to reach his nose, and planted a kiss on the tip. “Until then, you may pout all you like. It is rather endearing.”

“You know, I can’t decide whether I should find that delightful or insulting.”

“Take your time to figure it out, but do so while we’re walking,” Fenris said, underlining his words with a light smack to the mage’s rear.

Anders’ chuckled softly, “Practising for your goodnight kick already?”, but he did follow Fenris’ in the direction that led to the exit they’ have to take to, eventually, get to Darktown.

 

The journey had taken them longer than usual, but it couldn’t be helped; there were just too many nooks and alleys they had to kiss in. Most of these kisses had been of the heated, greedy variety, yet the one Fenris softly placed on Anders’ lips when they at last stood in front of the clinic’s door was chaste, fleeting.

“Goodnight, Anders. I will see you tomorrow and take you out to dinner the proper way, the way you deserve,” he said, cupping the mage’s cheek in his palm.

When Anders replied, his voice was but a choked whisper. “Maker, Fenris, your eyes…the way you're looking at me...... How do you do that? You're making me feel like I'm the only thing in the world that matters.”

“You are.” 

A couple of moments passed before the mage sighed, heavily. “You know, if you keep this up, you’re going to ruin my reputation forever… A man of my age shouldn’t need to spend the next few hours running in circles through his clinic, squeeing, before he’ll even be able to _think_ of sleeping…”

“Try to limit yourself to only one hour. You need the rest.” Fenris smirked and kissed him one last time. Then he opened the door, gently shoved Anders inside (using his hand, this time) and turned to make his way home.

He had a date to plan. 


	17. Chapter 17

The mage’s face bloomed with life and light, again, the moment Fenris entered the clinic. They were alone in the room, no patients around them, and Anders, already dressed for their night out, dropped his cleaning supplies and all but sprinted over to pull Fenris into his arms, nearly crushing his gift in the process.

Fenris carefully extricated himself and took a step back. “I believe the books decree that flowers are in order.” He presented them to the mage, surprised at how exposed it made him feel. “I am afraid I do not know their names. I chose them because they are the same colours as your coat.”

“They really are,” Anders fingers stroked along the outline of the petals, a faraway look on his face. “You’ve brought me flowers…Ooh,” he returned to the present with a frown, “I…don’t have a vase to put them in…”

“You do, however, have an entire shelf full of empty potion bottles.”

“Romantic and practical…I’m a lucky man indeed. I’ll just quickly put these in water, and then we’re good to go. Although…” he used his free hand to draw Fenris back against him and kissed him until they were both out of breath. “ _Now_ we’re good to go.”

 

“Are you taking me where I think you’re taking me?” Anders asked, poorly- concealed excitement in his voice and in the movements of this hands, when they neared their destination.

“I am fairly certain the answer is yes,” Fenris replied, smiling as the mage started to bounce even more.

“Maker yes! I loved that place.”

“The place or the food?” Fenris teased.

“Well, the food ranks second, but the place still scored a very respectable third.”

Fenris frowned. “The performances were your favourite?”

“Nah,” Anders said, grinning like a man pleased with the world and, most prominently, himself, “that honour falls to your company.” Fenris was left fumbling for a reply, and Anders’ grin widened even more. “See, I can be smooth too.” He kissed his nose in that soft, playfully teasing way he seemed to enjoy, considering how often he did it, and which Fenris, although he made a point of frowning every time, secretly (probably not really, going by Anders’ still broadening grin) loved.

“If my company is the deciding factor, I could have simply brought a loaf of bread to your clinic.” Fenris smirked. “I can be smug too.”

Anders chuckled softly, but let him get away with it. “That might have been more successful than you think.” He smiled, kissing his lips as they approached the door.” But I’m glad we’re here. First flowers, now this…I must say, you’ve come up with an amazing date.”

“I am not yet finished.” Fenris ignored Anders’ rising eyebrows and continued. “I know it is not where we shared our first meal, yet it was the last ‘date’ we went on before we…”

“Became _us_ ,” Anders finished for him.

“Indeed,” Fenris nodded. “And I’ll have you know, I brought a spare fork.”

 

A small ensemble was playing an annoyingly upbeat song Fenris was unfamiliar with, but apart from that, everything was just like it had been the last time. The large room, the scattered tables, the hum of people chattering, the smell of flowers… He led Anders to the small, secluded table they’d sat at on their last visit.

“I can’t believe it’s still free,” Anders murmured when Fenris pulled back his chair for him. “I mean, the place is cram-…hey, look, they match my coat too!” His voice grew in volume as he pointed at the flowers on the table.

Fenris sat down across from him. “It would appear so,” he nodded, one eyebrow raised and the corresponding half of his mouth curved upwards.

“Why are you looking like…?” Anders stopped mid-sentence, lifting his eyes to the shelf above the table, then turning in his chair to scan the room. At last, he whispered. “They all do. On every table…on the shelves too…” He swivelled back around. “Fenris… _how_?”

“The same way the table was available. I came here this morning to have them reserve it for us. I also showed them your flowers, and they agreed to have their bouquets match them.”

“Maker, that must have cost a fortune; you don’t need to…”

“It was cheaper than you think,” Fenris interrupted him, frowning as a thought hit him. “You may have been right all along. Perhaps I do look intimidating…”

Anders’ hand found his, his fingers softly tracing the lyrium lines. “Only to those who don’t know you.” He smiled, full of warmth and affection. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

“As is the one whose attire they match.”

He thought the mage would reply with one of his flippant remarks, and at first Anders face seemed to agree, but then it softened, even more warmth in his eyes as he quietly said. “I am yours, Fenris.”

Fenris cleared his throat. “As I am yours.” Mouth gone dry, he didn’t have anything else to say; nothing existed but the feeling of Anders’ fingers caressing his hand and the look in the mage’s eyes, and he wasn’t sure whether to be irritated or relieved when a server arrived at their table to take their orders.

Fenris could tell Anders was holding back when choosing his food, but decided not to comment on it. He knew the mage tended to feel uncomfortable when Fenris spent too much coin on him. Now that they were together, he would have to learn to at the very least compromise on that – under no circumstances would Fenris let his…boyfriend…go hungry – but he had already made arrangements to ensure Anders’ appetite would be satisfied tonight. They could discuss the issue another time, if it became necessary…well, knowing Anders, it was rather a matter of when than of if. He was a stubborn fool, Fenris reminded himself, grinning at the thought. _His_ stubborn fool.

“Care to tell me what’s so funny?” An amused voice brought him back into the room.

He replied honestly, a fond smile dancing across his lips, “I was thinking that I got myself a stubborn fool.”

“You sure did. Guess that’s what they call an equal exchange… I mean, I got the same in return, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Fenris nodded. “And he is yours.”

Anders leaned over the table and placed a noisy kiss on his lips. “Mmm. Mine. And he’s perfect. Gorgeous. Gentle. Smart. Funny. Strong. As smug and sarcastic as they come. But with the kindest heart you’ll ever find.” He punctuated each statement with another smack on his lips, leaving Fenris blushing profusely when he finally settled back into his chair.

“I do not deserve such praise,” Fenris mumbled, intently studying the flowers on the table.

“Yes, you do.” Teasing had made way for earnestness. “And I will keep telling you these things every single day, until you finally get it into that thick skull of yours that they’re true.” Anders grinned. “And then I’ll keep saying them anyway, because they’ll still be true, and I love to talk.”

Fenris lifted his eyes, the hint of a smirk on his face. “I enjoy a man willing to speak his mind.”

“See, we’re a perfect match.”

“We are.”

Something seemed to be gathering in Anders’ eyes, yet before Fenris had time to decipher it, the mage leaned over and kissed him again. This time, it wasn’t soft, and it wasn’t brief either. They only stopped when a very polite elven woman discreetly cleared her throat and asked them whether they wished to have their first course served now. Fenris had to hand it to her, the curiosity with which she regarded him was so well hidden it was only noticeable if you knew where to look. He could imagine all too well _what_ she was thinking, what everyone around was thinking, and as much as he wished to, he couldn’t entirely brush it off. But he would not let them take this away from him. This wasn’t like _that_. Anders wasn’t like that. He was his. Fenris was his equal. Their whispers and sneers couldn’t stain what they shared. He refused to let them. It was his.

Still, he was grateful she had bothered to hide it. Had Anders noticed, he would have been outraged, would have defended him…and Fenris would have been grateful, yet it would also have stung. He didn’t need it. Tonight, the world consisted of only the two of them, and Fenris wanted to keep it that way.

So he smiled, matching her vacant politeness. “Please, do proceed. I know better than to keep him from his food.”

The mage chuckled. “I have a very considerate boyfriend…and he spoils me rotten.”

His tone was jovial, his posture relaxed, his smile charming, but Fenris recognized the flash in his eyes, noticed the firm squeeze he gave his hand, and the politeness of his smile thawed into genuine affection. By now, he should have known better than to underestimate him. Limited as Anders’ focus might be, once something had truly caught his attention, it had it for good….But more importantly, he had thought to control his anger…for him. Fenris gave Anders’ hand an equally form squeeze in return. “He deserves it.”

 

Their food was placed in front of them, and Anders got busy devouring it in his usual fashion. Fenris watched him, with his usual degree of amusement. They worked their way through several courses, occasionally letting go of their silverware to brush the other’s hand, lazily talking in between mouthfuls. When their desserts – the same cake they’d had the last time – arrived, Anders eyed Fenris’ cutlery with a wide grin.

“Did you really bring a spare fork?”

“I did. But I made sure I would not need it.”

The mage furrowed his brow. Before he could reply, however, another, equally polite server, whose timing Fenris could only admire, walked up behind him and placed four additional cakes on his side of the table. Anders stared at them, whether more in awe or in confusion, Fenris could not have said for certain.

“I ordered them for you this morning. One for each day we have been together.” He continued, looking at the mage with a shy smile. “I started counting from the first kiss.”

“I…” Anders swallowed visibly, “think that’s a good place to start…I…I can’t believe you did all that…for me…”

“As I said, you deserve it. This, and much more.” He smirked. “And I shall keep giving it to you, until you finally get it into your thick skull that you do. And then I shall keep doing it, for as you will then know, you deserve it. Every day.”

Anders stared at him, wide-eyed and silent, for a long moment. At last, he cleared his throat and said, “A man who favours action…just like I always dreamed. Although I must say, you’re not exactly bad at making me feel good with words either… Should you ever need a break, just stick to those, and I’ll be just as happy.” A grin crept onto his face, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “We are _definitely_ coming here for our one-year anniversary, though. Better start saving now, that’s a lot of cakes…It’s going to cost you.” He winked at Fenris. “Scared?”

“What scares me is that I have no doubt you will manage to eat them all.”

“Well, I might limit myself to half of them…I have to stay in shape for my handsome elf.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “I am yours regardless of what shape you are in.”

“See this,” Anders sighed dramatically, “is what I meant. You’re ruining me. I’m dangerously close to squeeing again…ah, forget squeeing, I might actually cry with joy.”

“On you, even that would look appealing.”

Anders threw his hands up in a gesture of frustration. “Alright, I give up. You are merciless and perfect and how am I ever supposed to compete with…”

“Just eat your cake, mage.” Fenris laughed softly, trying not to be overwhelmed by the warmth and…that was happiness, wasn’t it…bubbling up inside him. “And pay attention to your surroundings.”

Anders frowned. “My surroundings? I mean, like I said, the place is nice, but,” he winked, “you’re far more pleasing to look at.”

Nevertheless, he got to work on cake number one.

He was reaching for number three by the time he noticed.

“Wait a minute, is that…?” He turned towards the stage in a hasty flurry, only narrowly managing to avoid sending the remaining cakes crashing to the floor. After several more performances by musical groups, jugglers, and actors, the stage was now occupied by a bard, who was busy declaiming poetry at a volume that belied her tiny frame. “That’s…that’s Orlesian…” Anders shifted in his chair to look at Fenris. “It’s from the books I read in the Circle…they performed it back when we...” He started to snicker uncontrollably. “Maker, Fenris, you’re incredible. How did you even _know_ it was one of them? You only heard them once. And you _hated_ them.”

“Make that present tense,” Fenris snorted. “ _You_ enjoy them, however.” He nodded his head at the bard. “She is well-versed in such matters. Telling her which reading we went to was sufficient. I am afraid you missed the first few because you were busy,” his mouth quivered, “ _not_ chewing, but from what I understand, she has several more prepared.”

“Flowers, cake and poetry, chosen just for me…this is officially better than any date I’ve ever dreamed or read about.” Anders smiled, his hand reaching out for Fenris’ once more. “All that’s missing,” he added teasingly, “is a poem _composed_ for me.”

“That one,” Fenris replied, “contains words that make it unfit for public presentation. Otherwise, I would have instructed her to include it.”

The mage gaped at him. “Did you…did you really write one for me?”

Fenris nodded. “I have been working on it over the past months. It is but a rough draft of…bits and pieces. Behave yourself, and I shall recite it for you later.”

“Well, I’m just going to assume you’ll deliver it anyway, since by now you must know I’m incapable of behaving myself.”

“Sadly true.”

Anders didn’t bother to hide his grin. “Admit it - you think it’s charming.”

“I shall neither confirm nor deny that.”

“I knew it!” He exclaimed triumphantly. “And speaking of bad behaviour….not fit for the public, hmm? Is that because it lauds my unparalleled prowess in bed and describes, in glorious detail, how spectacularly well-endowed I am?”

“Alas, it falls short in both regards. It does, however, mention you are a mage.”

“Hmm, that’s alright too, I guess…fails to deliver on the risqué part, though.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong - Weren’t you the one who wanted us to ‘take our time’ with such things?”

“Well, I said we should move slowly, not that we had to stand completely still.”

“An interesting revelation. Do continue.”

“On some things I, too, tend to prefer action over words. And believe me, I intend to let them speak…loudly.”

“I…” Fenris swallowed, “might be amenable.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.” Anders playfully stuck out his tongue. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the poem. I demand you recite it the moment we’re out the door.”

Fenris nodded. “I will.”

 

He did. Well, first, there was the matter of who would walk home whom, which Anders settled rather firmly. Since Fenris had brought his sword, he had insisted in bringing his staff and thus, he argued, it was now Fenris’ turn to pout all he liked. “I’m walking you home, properly, tonight, and that’s that.”

As soon as they were on their way, however, Anders prodded him for the poem, and listened attentively as Fenris tried to recite it with as little awkward stammering as possible.

“It is not yet finished,” Fenris hastened to add when he was done. ”Things…changed over the last months. It needs to be changed accordingly.”

Anders shook his head. “I think it’s perfect. Granted, everything sounds perfect in your voice, but this…I love it, I really do. I can’t believe you actually wrote one.”

“At first, it was merely a joke,” Fenris admitted. “Something to match the one you wrote about me. But then…”

“I’ll come up with a new one for you!” Anders cut in with endearing determination. “The old one doesn’t even come close to capturing your perfection…” He grinned. “It needs at least ten more lines about the softness of your hair.”

“A matter that is indeed all too often overlooked,” Fenris sighed solemnly. He pulled Anders against him, both to kiss him and to slow down their pace a little. For as much he appreciated the thought, having the mage walk him home meant they had significantly less time together. He couldn’t help wishing he had chosen another place to eat after all, somewhere on the other end of Hightown. His mansion was already coming into view.

“So…” Anders asked when they approached the door, “…would you like me to stay? “

Torn between a sigh and a smile, Fenris chose the latter. “I do. But I know you do not.”

“Well, in case you hadn’t noticed, I _did_ just ask to stay…”

“For my sake, not for yours.”

Anders sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, chewing on it with fervour. “It's not that I don't _want_ to...actually, I really, _really_ do. I just...don't want to rush things....Do you see what I mean?”

“I admit I do not.” Fenris stroked his thumb over the mage’s cheek. “But I understand it matters to you. So we will...take our time.”

Anders put his hand on Fenris’, stilling his movements. “Thank you. I promise, it won’t be for long…just a few days, two or three weeks at most…until we’ve grown a bit more used to the new….situation.”

Fenris nodded slowly. “You fear pleasure would interfere with…finding our way.”

“It’s not really ‘pleasure’ itself I’m worried about, more the way it tends to make you forget other things are important too, but yes, that’s it. Most of this is new for both of us, and I don’t want to mess things up because we jumped in too deep too fast. I have a bad habit of rushing…well, everything. I don’t want to do that with you.” He hesitated, voice shaking as he continued. “It would kill me to lose you.”

Fenris placed his other hand firmly on Anders’ other cheek, tilting his face downwards. “It is as you said: You got yourself a stubborn elf. I shall remain yours, with or without messing things up, or rushing them.” He placed a quick kiss on Anders’ lips and withdrew his hands. “Goodnight, mage. I will come pick you up for another date tomorrow night. And since you refuse to let me accompany you, please be careful on your way home.”

He made to open the door, but Anders grabbed him, pulled him back into his arms and kissed him, hard, lips insistent, tongue demanding, hands roaming down his back to settle on his arse with a firm squeeze that lifted his hips up against the mage’s own. Fenris felt pressure building inside him, along with a moan that had nowhere to go with his mouth being completely in Anders’ possession, his whole body yielding, melting into the mage. And still, Anders kissed him, poured more heat and hunger into every single part of him.

“I needed a little something to get me through the long walk home…” He mumbled against Fenris’ hair when he finally allowed him to draw a breath. “And like I said, slow, not unmoving,”

Fenris was still clinging to the mage, slowly finding his way out of the daze of his touch. “You enjoy torturing me.”

 

“Think of it as the joy of anticipation.” The mage was grinning; Fenris didn’t need to lift his head to know that. “That’s certainly what I’m going to tell myself when I get home…” He put his mouth to Fenris’ ear and whispered, “…where I will once again be thoroughly enjoying myself, thinking of you. Specifically, remembering _this_.”

“Rest assured, I shall do the same,” Fenris rasped, cursing the way Anders had managed to set him aflame again.

“Mmm, good to know, I’ll be thinking of _that_ , then…”

A minute passed, and another, and the mage had still not let him go.

“Do you intend to spend the night like this?”

“I…” Anders said with a nervous chuckle, “…am afraid I’m going to need a few more minutes before I can safely walk among people again…As by your request, these trousers are really tight…”

Oh yes, Fenris had noticed. Repeatedly.

“Serves you right,” he growled, smacking the mage’s rear just hard enough to still be gentle.

“Not helping!” Anders yelped.

It would have been a more satisfying revenge had Fenris not had the same problem. 


	18. Chapter 18

A knock on the door. More precisely, incessant, merciless banging. Fenris let his face fall back onto the pillow, growling into the uncaring fabric. Early, way too early. Prior to Danarius’ death, allowing himself this simple, wonderful luxury – sleeping in – had been unthinkable, but now that he could finally indulge, he did, and he did it thoroughly. Most of the times Hawke had dropped by unannounced to ask for his help with yet another foolhardy venture in the last months, he had found Fenris still wrapped tightly into his blankets. But Hawke was almost certainly still on the Wounded Coast, on the way back, at most. And he did not bother to knock on doors; he just picked the locks. So who _was_ the source of this untimely intrusion? Surely, slavers weren’t in the habit of knocking either? He reminded himself that Danarius was dead, that Hadriana was dead – there was no one left to send hunters; he was free. Yet while panic had the mercy to loosen its grip, the nauseous claws in his stomach refused to stop scratching, and he cursed himself for still being afraid, after all these years. He was a free man. He would open his door as such, not cower in the corner.

One glance in the mirror confirmed there was no use trying to combat his tousled state, so he crept down the stairs, tentatively approached the door, flung it open with more force than necessary…and felt every muscle in his body relax, his lips curving upwards with an ease that took him by surprise. The morning was still dim and hazy, but the cold air reaching for his skin didn’t make it past the warmth he felt.

“Good morning, Fenris.”

“Mage.”

“Maker, did I wake you? I’m sorry…or maybe I’m not, your look rather adorable like this, all rumpled and sleepy-eyed. Well, anyway…you said I could drop by whenever I wanted to, and I thought we could have a morning-date for a change. I still haven’t taken that day off I promised you.” He winked, lifting a heavy-looking satchel in front of Fenris’ face. “ _And_ I brought breakfast.”

“Come in, then,” Fenris nodded, wondering when he would finally stop smiling like a fool... Anders bending down to kiss his nose on his way inside didn’t exactly increase the likelihood of that happening any time soon.

“I’ll just quickly fetch a kettle and water for tea. Why don’t you go upstairs and make yourself comfortable in the meantime?”

“Do you remember the way to the kitchen?”

“Yes, your instructions were pretty clear. And it’s daylight. I’ll manage. So go to your room and rest on that lovely arse of yours while I take care of things.”

“As you wish.” The smile was still doggedly in residence on his face.

 

Fenris was huddled up in one of his chairs, feet tucked under his legs, when Anders arrived upstairs.

“Aww, you look even more adorable like that, makes me want to crawl right into your lap…”

“I have no objections.”

Anders grinned. “I’ll keep that in mind…How about I get a fire going? It’s rather chilly in here. We could put a few blankets on the floor, have a picnic in front of the fireplace… and you can snuggle up against me in all your adorableness.”

Fenris agreed, and Anders set to work. Soon, the crackle and glow of a fire sent the first tendrils of warmth into the room, several blankets had been piled next to as well as on top of each other, and Anders, still firmly refusing help, started to prepare their tea. Fenris, who was still reclined in his chair, watching the mage, frowned when Anders started to unpack an opulent meal of several cakes, different types of bread, butter, cheese, fruit, even meat and what looked like another bottle of Agreggio.

“This looks expensive. Do you need more coin?”

“I’d saved enough for our date, and we didn’t buy that much food there, so no.” The mage gave an indignant huff. “Stop keeping track of my spending.”

Fenris looked at him, softly yet firmly, and he spoke in the same manner. ”Anders…”

The mage sighed but met his gaze head-on. “I’m doing alright, Fenris. In case you hadn’t noticed, I can take care of myself.”

“Yes, you can. Mostly.” He smirked, briefly, before he continued, trying not sound too imploring. “Yet you do not have to. You have dreamed of someone who takes care of you your whole life. Let me.”

“You’re right…except you’re forgetting that I have dreamed of taking care of _them_ just as much. And for just as long.” Anders’ expression didn’t reveal much, but his voice was tinged with pain.

“You do not need to spend coin to do so.”

“Neither do you.”

“I am aware of that. Yet I have more coin than I can use. You do not. You have a clinic to supply.” Fenris hesitated. “Life on the run taught me to only look out for my survival, to not get too involved in the affairs of others. That has…changed. Your affairs do concern me. I want them to.”

“Fenris…”

He sighed. “If it helps, think of it as payment for your healing services….”

“I’m not letting my boyfriend pay me for that!” Anders exclaimed, clearly mortified.

“You have healed me for years, long before I became that.” He smirked. “So in fact, I am deeply in your debt.”

“And you have protected me in battle through all those same years. That makes us even.”

“As you have protected me – or are you telling me my opponents chose to freeze themselves every time they had an advantage over me?”

Anders crossed his arms in front of his chest, raised himself to his full height and scowled down at Fenris. “Still doesn’t change the fact that I don’t take coin from my patients, romance or not. I’ll manage, Fenris, really. Yes, I’m poor, but I’m not _quite_ as dirt-poor as I used to be. The amount of ‘anonymous’ donations for the clinic has more than doubled over the last months.”

“Anonymous?” Fenris frowned.

“Yes. At first I thought it might be you, but you were already helping me out pretty directly…you know, slamming coin on my table…”

“They did not come from me,” Fenris said, although he now wished they had. He’d never even considered the option. “Hawke?”

“Either he or Varric…But my guess is Hawke. You know him, he always tries to ‘subtly’ contribute, and he’s the one who brings them in, claiming they’re from some ‘anonymous benefactor’, so innocently I’d almost believe it, if he wasn’t you know, him.” Anders huffed. “In either case, I can afford to buy my boyfriend _one_ breakfast.”

Fenris chose to let his eyebrows do the talking.

There was a long silence. At last, the mage uncrossed his arms, scuffed his foot across the floor and quietly said. “But in the long run…I guess you’re right…perhaps we can figure something out.” He smiled softly. “I won’t deny it felt good to be spoiled last night. But it has to stay within limits! You can’t do that every time.”

“Only on special occasions. Or to see the surprise on your face.” Fenris grinned “But when you need coin for food, I demand you tell me.” Anders made to speak but Fenris shushed him impatiently. “Keeping you fed is not ‘spoiling’. If I have to monitor your clinic’s food supplies to make sure you eat, I will. Spare us both the trouble, and tell me.”

“I thought I’d just keep eating at your place...”

Fenris’ mouth curved into a half-smile. “That is also acceptable.”

Anders walked over to his chair, grabbed Fenris’ hand and pulled him up and into his arms. He held him close, smiling as he brushed some stray hair out of Fenris’ eyes. “But from time to time, I _will_ spoil you in return, and you’ll just shut up and enjoy it. Are we clear on that?”

Fenris nodded.

“Good. Now will you please join me on the blankets? I’m starving.”

 

 

The food Anders had brought was excellent, if a bit excessive– not that Fenris was opposed to stuffing himself, but at this time of day, he tended to just nibble on a piece of bread, wash it done with a bit of tea, maybe add an apple, if he was feeling especially bold. Anders’ stomach, however, was apparently not bound by such petty shackles as the position of the sun; he dug in with as much vigour as ever. Therefore, after he had sampled each bread and decided it was never too early for cake, Fenris settled his head in Anders’ lap and watched the mage eat, blissfully content in a state of not-quite-dozing-off. In between shovelling heaps of food into his mouth, Anders’ hands left caresses and crumbs in his hair.

While the mage was thorough, he didn’t devour everything, insisting that Fenris’ hunger was probably just delayed and that he had brought this breakfast for _both_ of them. Compared to what they’d started out with, the remains weren’t all that impressive but, as Fenris realized with a smile, Anders had made sure to leave sizeable shares of his particular favourites untouched. Once those had been carefully pushed as far away from the blankets, and the fire, as the mage could manage without having to get up, Anders gathered Fenris’ head in his hands and lifted it off his lap, then stretched himself out on the floor, snuggled up tightly against Fenris and wrapped his arms around him.

It took a bit of shuffling and rearranging, but eventually all limbs and heads were comfortably entangled, Fenris’ face nestled somewhere between Ander’s chest and the crook of his arm. They lay like this for a long time, talking about things that didn’t matter, but were all the more important for it, laughing at jokes that were hilarious for not being funny, occasionally exchanging gentle, lazy kisses that gave without taking.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Anders mumbled into his hair, so faintly it was almost lost in the wind howling through the holes of the roof, the crackling of the fire on their little island of warmth and safety.

Fenris released a soft growl of agreement against his chest. The mage was right, this was all the world should ever be, just the two of them lying there, in each other’s arms and scent, at home in their togetherness. Yet calm and safe though he felt; it was not all he felt. There was something else, sparking deep in his gut at each tiny movement of Anders’ legs against his own, dancing across his skin in hungry little flames when Anders hand brushed over his bare arms, and as the morning seeped into noon, his body began to inch closer, fitting himself into the mage’s, curling around him, searching for touch that was heat, not warmth. His mouth, too, found Anders’ in different ways, his tongue starting to…not yet take, but ask. And Anders answered, arching into his touch, claiming his mouth with a ferocity that made Fenris’ head spin.

This…hunger he felt for everything that was _Anders_ , for his touch, his body, his groans, and pleasure still startled him. New, like nothing he had ever felt or even thought existed, all-encompassing and overwhelming in its greedy need. He had no idea how it was supposed to be controlled when all he wanted to do was give himself over, the torrent thrilling, not frightening, now that he was safely anchored to someone who cared. Someone he trusted. But that someone, this man in his arms who was _his_ , trusted him, too, and he had made it clear he wanted their pace to be “slow”. 

Thus, Fenris was determined to learn how to navigate this. He wanted to take care of Anders, to make him feel safe, free to talk about what was troubling him, in all the ways Anders was doing the same for him. And he never wanted him to regret even a single touch exchanged between them. Never. Fenris would not cause him pain. Or shame.

Catching a steadying breath was not exactly made easier by the teeth nibbling along his jaw, or the hand gliding across his side, yet he forced himself to draw back a little, to think of the night before, of Anders’ tentative offer to stay, his relief when Fenris had agreed to wait. The mage’s reluctance had hurt, at first, had felt like Anders didn’t trust him, but he thought he understood it, now. Anders didn’t hesitate because he didn’t want him, he hesitated because he had already lost too much. Because he could not bear to lose him too. It didn’t mean he wanted Fenris _less_. The mage was afraid. Fenris understood “afraid”.

He wasn’t entirely sure on the definition of “slow”, though – after all, Anders had had no qualms about teasing him the night before, had in fact quite mercilessly set out to leave him frenzied and aching.

“I am not certain where the boundaries are. I need you to guide me.”

Anders only curled himself more tightly around him, hot breath fanning over his ear, “I know we agreed to take it slow but Maker, it feels so good to feel you want me.” He nudged his hips playfully against the hard proof that Fenris wanted him very, very much indeed, and Fenris groaned with an abandon he would have been embarrassed about had it been witnessed by anyone else. 

Fenris bit Anders’ neck in retaliation and the gasp that followed was once again the opposite of helpful. He sighed into his skin.

“Torture me, if it pleases you, but stop me before I go too far.”

The mage was busy canting his hips again, his reply a half-hearted, “Alright.”

Fenris pulled back. “Promise me. I can’t bear the thought of hurting you.”

Anders’ hand cupped his cheek, angling his face so their eyes met. “I promise I’ll keep us in check. Both of us.” He placed fluttering kisses on his nose and his forehead. “You won’t hurt me, Fenris. Am I making you uncomfortable? I know this is a bit of ‘mixed signals’…I didn’t mean to confuse you.” He gently untangled himself from Fenris’ arms and sat up. “Would you rather we stopped? You know you can say no anytime, to anything, right?”

His hair a mess, the lip he was nervously chewing on swollen, flushed like the rest of his face, eyes flitting around anxiously, Anders looked both endearing and enticing, and although Fenris couldn’t claim there was no confusion involved at all, there was none when it came to the fact that he wanted to feel his skin against his. Now.

So he pulled him back into his arms. “I know, mage. And I do not wish to stop...” He tugged at the hem of his shirt, mirroring the words the mage had said after their very first kisses, trying to make his eyes ask the way Anders’ had. “I want to touch you.”

“Please do.” Anders smiled. He let his hand trail across Fenris’ arm. “But I don't need to take off my shirt for that. Just slide your hands underneath it.”

Fenris frowned. “We have already seen it each other unclothed.”

“Oh, yes, I do remember that. In fact, I make a point of indulging in a vividly detailed reverie at least once a day. And night… Rest assured, I plan to revel in your sight again in the very near future. But right now, I'm not quite sure how far I trust my self-control…and it can actually feel pretty amazing to explore without being able to see and reach everything…” He winked. “Feel free to try it…”

“You know this how…?”

“Do you really want to hear about my past exploits?” Anders asked with a pointedly raised eyebrow, yet kissed him before he had a chance to reply. “Touch me,” he whispered against his lips, and Fenris didn’t hesitate to comply.

Anders had been right, it felt good to just _feel_ , to let his hands find all the little details his eyes might have missed. The mage’s arms still encased by fabric, his back against the floor, Fenris’ reach was limited to Anders’ chest, his stomach, and the soft lines of his sides, but as it turned out there was an entire world to discover. Firm planes, sharp edges, a trail of hair on yielding flesh, his fingers tracing, mapping every part, sliding, scratching, finding the tiny, hard peaks of Anders’ nipples, flicking, circling, goosebumps in their wake…and gasps in the air, reckless moans, shocked little whimpers, a language of skin and sound Fenris was impatient to learn. And Anders’ mouth beneath his, opening, drawing him in, tongue and lips and heat and hands frantically clinging to his back.

His body was on fire, aching for more in this new way Fenris would never get enough of, his mind ready to follow, to let itself be blissfully overpowered, but he knew he couldn’t let it, not if he wanted to learn to control this, to restrain himself the way Anders needed him to. Which made the fact that there was something else on it, a distraction he hadn’t quite been able to block out nudging against the fringes, almost fortunate.

He let go of Anders’ lips, as painful a separation as it was, curled himself against his side, chin resting on his shoulder, one hand still splayed out on his stomach, and looked up at him.

“Yes.”

It took a few moments before Anders replied, glazed eyes peering down at him from beneath fluttering lashes. “Yes what?”

“I do want to hear about them. Your exploits.”

“Why...why would you want to talk about that?” Anders pushed up on his elbows, forcing Fenris to lift his head.

“I want to know you. In every way.”

“Fenris...I don't want you to think...” The mage was stammering, “I mean, my past isn’t exactly…you know…”

Fenris gently stroked a finger along Anders’ jaw. “Do not fear condemnation. Not from me. Not ever. And you have already told me stories of your time on the run. I remember the brothels. I know you are experienced.”

“In some regards, yes. In many others, I barely have a clue. But if you truly want to know…” Anders sighed. “Alright. You can ask me anything, whatever you want.”

“How many have there been?”

The mage released a chuckle that sounded slightly horrified. “Right into the heart of awkward, I see.”

“I do not shy away from danger.” Fenris smirked, still tracing the outline of Anders’ jaw.

“I….don’t know the exact number. I mean, it’s not like I’ve kept count…”

“You’re lying.” Fenris didn’t bother to hide his amusement. “You probably have a list of names and dates as detailed as your manifesto.”

“What makes you think I’d be the kind of person who’d do that?” 

“Am I wrong?”

There was a brief silence. “Your hair is really soft.”

It wasn’t actually funny, but the way Anders was examining his scalp with all the earnestness and focus he could muster had Fenris giggling helplessly regardless.

“Alright, mage,” he relented when he finally had the air to do so, “you may keep your secret.”

“Thank you. If you really want to hear specific stories, I’ve got a few good ones, but I’d like to wait with those until we have a few more stories of our own…so you’ll have no doubt they all pale next to you.”

“And _all_ are…how many exactly?” 

“Be glad I happen to find your smugness charming.” Anders kissed his nose. “It’s in the double digits, but not as high as you seem to think, and that’s all I’m going to say on the matter, at least for now. So, what else do you want to know?”

“Have you been with women? I recall Isabela mentioning something about you and...her.”

“Yes. I like women too, and I’ve been with a…number I’m currently not going to specify. And, yes, Isabela and I did spend a couple of nights together when I was on the run. We didn't really know each other though; it was only about sex. I was still trying to get to Karl back then. I took pleasure where I could find it, but my heart was taken. The people I met in these places didn't mind.” He chewed on his lip. “Does it bother you that I’ve been with someone you know so well?”

“It is a strange thought, but it does not bother me.”

A faint smile was playing over the mage’s lips. Faint, and not entirely happy. “It was years ago; it almost feels like it was in another life. I wasn’t the same person then….as she likes to remind me, I was far more entertaining.”

“You are entertaining enough for me.”

“Not quite the raving compliment you’d wish for, but I’ll take it.” There was less sadness in Anders’ smile as he continued. “Do you have more questions?”

“Who was the first?”

“I suppose that depends on how you define ‘first’. My first kiss was during a daring game in the Circle, and I can’t even remember his name. My first sexual encounters took place during my...third escape, I think. I do remember the name, but the person it belongs to is only a faint recollection now. The first who touched me...” he smiled softly, “…everywhere, including my heart, was Karl.”

“So he was the only one you…had feelings for?”

“Again, that depends on what ‘feelings’ we’re talking about. When it comes to…being someone’s, with all my heart, there have only been two - Karl, and you. There was Hawke, as we both remember all too well, but those feelings were…maybe not less real, but less…substantial. And there was Nyriya, another apprentice in the Circle, long before I met Karl, when I was still very young. I had a huge crush on her, the first one ever.” He grinned. “And as dramatic as first crushes go... She didn't return my feelings, and I was miserable for weeks. I mean, more miserable than I was already, you know, being trapped in a prison tower...”

“She was a fool.” As was Hawke, but Fenris decided he’d rather leave that unmentioned. 

Anders playfully nudged his shoulder. “Many would argue she made a wise choice... And well, she didn’t feel the same; sometimes, that's just how it is. But she was a good friend, once I’d stopped being a mopey brat…” He winked. “Well, to her at least. She even helped me escape that one time with the spider venom and the broom I told you about, although she was too scared to come with me. I wish she had. She might have had a chance, then.” The mage’s smile faltered.

“What became of her?”

“She never returned from her Harrowing. After I met Karl, I neglected the few other friends - or well, as close to friends as you dare to have in the Circle lest the Templars use them against you - I had made there; so we weren't that close anymore. Then one day she was simply...gone. Like so many others. Gone or made tranquil. Like...” His voice cracked. “I…I’m sorry, I’m ruining the mood.”

“I asked, mage.” He cradled Anders’ face and looked right into his eyes, firmly, steadily, trying to soothe him with his voice. “They will not have you. You have my word. No Templar will lay a hand on you.”

Anders covered his hands with his. “Thank you. I mean it. But…I need you to promise me something else. If they _do_ get me, and if it is truly hopeless - don’t let yourself get killed to protect me. Promise me. If they take me to the Gallows, there is nothing you can do. Once they find out about Justice, they’ll execute me on the spot. You would die for nothing. Promise me you won’t do that. Promise me you will not let my fate become yours.”

“I…cannot do that mage. I would come for you, no matter what. He silenced Anders’ protests with a firm press of his fingers to his lips. “And you are a fool if you think I would be the only one. You _have_ friends, mage. Do you honestly believe Hawke would let the Templars take you any more than he let Danarius take me, or her clan kill the witch? He cares about you. And so do the others.” He smirked. “Well, most of them.”

There was a long, slightly awkward silence. Anders pointedly looked everywhere but him, a slight tremble to his body and a suspicious glisten in his eyes. At last he cleared his throat and asked, a bit too cheerfully. “So, eh, what about you? Who have you been with?”

Fenris throat turned into a desert. He had assumed the mage knew, had understood when he told him…. He fumbled blindly for an answer, any answer; his thoughts turned into itchy blankness. He trusted Anders, wanted him to know him, too. Still, some part of his mind kept screaming _. Don’t. Not about this. Stop. Don’t._

Anders eyes widened and he flinched, stammering on, “I mean…by choice. After your escape.” He swallowed visibly and continued, carefully laying out his words like navigating a cave full of traps. “I don’t know how to ask this…if I should have asked before we…or if I should even ask at all, because...I am fairly certain I know the answer, but with what we are doing here...I...it would help to be sure. If you can….you don't have to answer. Danarius, did he hurt you…use you,” he shook his head ever so slightly, expression tense and grim, “…like...that? Did he force himself on you?”

Fenris couldn’t tell which was stronger, the relief that Anders _had_ understood, that he didn’t have to fear confessing would change things, or the jittery terror at the details the mage would likely want to know. Ten years. It had been almost ten years. Why did it still matter; why did these ghosts still cling to him, was he still stained by the touch of a dead man's hands?

“As you said: You know the answer.”

Anders’ hand sought his. “Fenris, I…”

“Mage,” Fenris cut in, “I want you to know me. But there are things…” Words eluded him and he trailed off helplessly.

“You don’t have to tell me anything, Fenris. There is nothing about you I don’t want to know, but…only as far as you feel you can give it.” Anders’ jaw set, eyes flashing. “You certainly don’t have to relive that bastard raping you for my sake.”

For a slave that term didn't exist; you had no name for the shame you felt. Your life was not yours, how could your body be? Other slaves, strangers, were forbidden to touch you, but that was to protect your master’s property, not your dignity. And if he wished to, your master could give them permission to use you at any moment. It was only after his escape that Fenris had realised it wasn't like that for everyone.

He felt his ears burning, shame lapping at his skin. “I am not certain he did that. I didn’t say no.”

“Could you have?”

Fenris hesitantly shook his head.

“There is your answer.” It was said so softly Fenris could barely hear it.

“It was not always painful.” Nor always unpleasant, but…he could not say that, the words refused to cooperate, stubbornly clung to his tongue, just like his eyes could not be convinced to meet the mage’s, insisting to study his chin instead.

“It doesn’t have to be. You still had no choice.” There was a long silence, Fenris’ heart beating in his head with a force that made him fear it might burst. It took him a moment to realise Anders was speaking again. “Fenris…what you said on the balcony, that you craved his tenderness - that doesn’t change anything. He was in the wrong, not you. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

Fenris pressed his face into the mage’s chest, trying to hide the wetness on his cheeks. ”Another time…perhaps?

He didn't think he would ever tell Anders the full extent of his duties, be it the physical or the deadly ones. Mainly out of shame, yet also because he knew it would enrage him, would make him want to make it right. Which he couldn't. It was good that the mage knew. And it was also _enough_ that he knew.

“Of course. Whenever you feel ready. _If_ you do.”

The mage put his arms around him, infinitely gently, his voice soft and sad against his hair. “I’m sorry I asked and brought it all back… I wish I could make it better, could....” He sighed. “I should just shut up, I guess. I know you don’t want to talk about it, and I don't want to treat you like you're…fragile. You're the strongest person I ever met; don't think I don't know that. But I can’t help it, I’m scared of hurting you. I couldn’t live with myself if I did.”

“Your touch is not painful.”

“Still, I…”

“No. It is not the same. I have no words for how different it is. I...understand your concern, but there is no need.”

After a brief silence, he felt Anders nod. “Alright. But you’ll l tell me if there _is_ something? That…can be an issue for you sometimes.”

Fenris nodded in return and closed his eyes, resting silently against the mage, waiting for his warmth, the rhythm of his breathing, and his scent to calm him, and Anders let him rest, unmoving except for the soft circles of his hands across Fenris’ back.

When the storm inside him had finally faded into a faint breeze, Fenris lifted his head and said, quietly, “There has been no one since my escape. Just you. Is that a problem?”

“Not for me.” Anders’ face crunched up in concern. “Is it one for you? Do you feel like you’ve missed out? I really want this to work; I want to be with you until the day I die. So if you feel you need to - I mean, if you even want the same...”

“I do.”

For a moment, Anders’ expression was pure, bright happiness. Then worry took over again, even stronger than before. “You have no idea how good it feels to hear you say that...Listen, I’m not one for sharing, not at all actually, but if this really troubles you, if you feel you have some catching up to do, or need to reclaim …things…with others… I admit I wouldn’t like it, but I’d find a way to deal with that…”

Fenris blinked, then frowned, his voice sharper than he intended when he replied. “ _No_. I do not want others. Never. And…” he hesitated, unsure if he could demand such a thing, “…I do not want you to be with others either.”

“I’m yours, and yours alone, Fenris. I neither need nor want anyone else.” His smile was bright again, although still a little anxious around the edges. “But I have other, mostly good experiences to look back on. You do not. So if you ever change your mind, tell me. We’d figure something out. I don’t want to take even more from you just because I’m selfish.”

“If that makes you selfish, I am selfish as well. And I will not change my mind. Trust me on that.”

The mage kissed him softly. ”I do trust you, Fenris. That’s not what I meant.” He sighed. ”And I've done it again, haven’t I, even worse this time. If you need your mood murdered, summon Anders.” 

Fenris laughed softly. “Yet you are also the one to turn to if you want it resurrected. Or given birth to in the first place. A healer in every sense.” He stroked his cheek, softness and stubble beneath his fingers. “I had an idea for another date tonight. Nothing lavish, do not fret.” 

He could feel Anders’ body tense as he stammered in reply, “I’d love to, I really would. It’s just…I hadn’t taken a day off so far, but with all the time we’ve spent together…I…I’ve been neglecting my patients lately, and…I think I…need to work on my manifesto for a bit…”

“Your spirit is getting restless,” Fenris stated evenly.

Anders nodded, but would not meet his eyes. “Yes. He...believes you're a distraction.”

“Tell him what I am is a reminder that you are human. Alive. And ask him if he remembers what I once told him about adapting to human customs.” He placed a kiss on the mage’s forehead and squeezed his hand. “But take your night off. I know it matters to both of you. I will see you in two days.”

“Two days?”

“I demand he let you sleep in between. I assume that means he'll want more time.” 

“You….that is not the reaction I expected…”

Fenris sighed. He had thought about this more than he wanted to admit. He still feared what the spirit…Justice might do to Anders. And yet, Anders was perfect the way he was, everything Fenris wanted – and as the mage had said, Justice was a part of him. It had been difficult to come to terms with, but did that not mean at least some parts of Justice had to be what Fenris wanted as well?

“I propose an agreement. While I do plan to distract you from your cause, I shall not keep you from it. In return, your spirit may at times distract you from your life, but not keep you from living it. There has to be room for both if he wants to do you _justice._ He claims his cause is all that matters, yet he sees the value in saving lives, so he must recognize yours has value too. If he cannot be just to his _friend_ , how just is he at all?”

Anders’ gaze was unfocussed for a moment. “I…think he needs some time to process that; he seems a little confused and…offended. But he also seems somewhat pleased with you.” He chuckled. “I knew you two would get along.”

“If he does not harm you, we will.” He pressed another kiss on the mage’s forehead. “Do the work you feel you need to do, but do not forget to rest. I will take you on another date in two days.”

Anders nodded thoughtfully. “That will be Wicked Grace night, actually….Do you feel you up for that?”

Fenris sighed. Had their time for themselves really passed that quickly? “I am if you are. We cannot avoid them forever.”

“I know. It just feels so nice with only the two of us. But they’d find us sooner or later.” The mage groaned. “They’d probably smoke us out or something.”

Fenris chuckled. “I fear their methods would be less subtle.”

“Yes, I shudder to think what Isabela’d come up with. Or Varric. Better we get it over with now. Do you want to meet up before so we can face them together?”

“I would like that. I will come pick you up.”

“Alright, it’s a date.” Anders said with a smile. “An in-two-days date.”

Fenris nodded. “It is. Do you have to leave now?”

“No, I can stay a few more hours....if you'd like me to.” He winked.

“I would. And I would also like a few more kisses. And…” he took Anders’ hand and guided it underneath his tunic, “touches.”


	19. Chapter 19

No one was looking at them. Which would have been perfect, had it not been so glaringly obvious that…no one was looking at them. Even Aveline pretended to be engrossed in the unmoving surface of her ale when she commented on their arrival.

“Fenris, Anders!” Fenris had never witnessed her saying the mage’s name with such an amount of joviality (or, come to think of it, any amount of joviality). “How nice to see you – and both of you. We missed you last time. Turns out when Anders isn’t there, I lose more coin. I hope everything’s alright?” Her voice was pitched too high, and she only spared them the briefest of glances before going back to studying her drink.

Fenris rolled his eyes – there was no need to keep the motion internal; their friends were too busy not being suspicious to notice, for all the good it did them. They might as well have been singing a song about it. Useless liars, the whole lot of them. Although to be fair, at least in Isabela’s case it was obvious she wasn’t actually trying all that hard. And the dwarf’s heart was clearly not in it either. The rest were getting progressively worse on a scale from “blatantly obvious” (Merrill) to “so forced it looks like severe constipation” (Sebastian). Anders had let go of his hand once they had reached the Hanged Man, stating that they shouldn’t make it too easy for them to sink in their teeth. At the time, Fenris had agreed, yet now he couldn’t help wishing they’d simply walked in arm in arm. He sighed.

“Just let it out.”

“What?” Aveline made a valiant attempt at faking innocence, while Isabela and Varric seemed to be competing whose face could wear the smuggest grin. Several moments of quiet passed. At last, the pirate lost her composure, along with her silence.

“You mean like you let it _in_?”

A soft chuckle from Varric, a groan from Hawke, and a murmur that might have contained the word “Andraste” from Sebastian followed. Fenris was still trying to decide how to best shut her down for good right from the start (not at all, probably, but a man could hope), when the mage at his side let out an annoyed huff.

“As I thought, Hawke couldn’t keep his big mouth shut.”

“That is insulting…ly accurate.” Hawke directed a shrug and a grin, neither of which held quite their usual vigour, their way. “Come on, you have to admit that was just too good to keep to myself.”

Anders crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Let me guess, you told your girlfriend, who told her girlfriend, who then told…oh, I don’t know, Varric?”

“No, he told me, and I told my girlfriend _and_ all my other friends. Much simpler that way.” Isabela raised her tankard with a wink.

“Typical,” Anders muttered not quite under his breath.

Sebastian looked at Fenris, a deep furrow between his eyes. “So it is true? I was certain it had to be one of Hawke’s many tasteless pranks.”

“ _Tasteless_?”

“But not lacking in charm, my friend. The Maker smiles on those who try to bring joy into the lives of others.”

“Well, it’s comforting to know at least _someone_ appreciates me. But in this case, it’s my honesty that should get him all a-grinning, for I did tell you nothing but the truth!”

“He did. For once.” Anders slipped his hand into Fenris’ and laced their fingers together, eyeing him a bit anxiously. Fenris lifted their joined hands to his lips and placed a kiss on the back of Anders’. He sent a tiny nod in the mage’s direction before he turned his attention back to their friends.

“Indeed.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened, yet it was Aveline who replied. “Seems I lost the bet. They really are together.” She sighed deeply. “Donnic will never let me hear the end of this.”

Sebastian made to add something, but he was drowned out by the witch exclaiming, “Oh, was that why we were all supposed to act normal? Did I miss something again? Weren’t they going out already?”

“Yes, but they weren’t actually together.” Isabela replied, still grinning.

“But they were?” Merrill insisted. “They were always together, and they were so happy when they could be alone! Oh,” she perked up, “ _alone_ , I get it now, is it because they do naughty things?” She turned to look at him and beamed. “Is it exciting? Does Anders know dirty spells?”

Oddly enough, Isabela was the one who rescued Fenris from his loop of blinking and gaping.

“Yes, Kitten, that’s exactly it.”

For a brief moment, the witch frowned. “I still don’t really see why it’s different. They were in love before, too?” Then she smiled at them with the utmost sincerity. “But it’s sooo nice to see you happy. You are happy, aren’t you?”

“They may have been in love – now there goes something I never thought I’d say – but the way I know these fools, they probably had their own tongues for dinner for several weeks at least before either of them found the balls to admit it.”

“Remind me again, Marigold, what do they say about sitting in glass houses?” Anders asked with a low chuckle.

Aveline scowled at him. The witch’s face, however, lit up. “So it’s because they told each other and feel safe and at home now, not because of the dirty things?”

“Maybe that’s more like it.” Isabela smiled at Merrill, with a warmth Fenris didn’t think he’d ever seen on her before.

In the meantime, Varric had signalled for Norah and now proceeded to order more drinks. “Bring two of your finest ale for my friends here. The _actual_ good stuff, not to the stale piss you serve to the poor bastards who don’t know better… You two just going to keep standing there all night?”

Merrill immediately shot up and vacated her chair, which had an empty one on either side. “Here, you can have my seat. You can’t hold hands if there’s someone sitting between you…Or maybe you can?” She giggled. “You don’t mind if I sit next to you, Sebastian, do you?”

“Of course not, Merrill, you are more than welcome. I’m sure it will be a pleasant change to sit next to the less…raunchy participants for a night.”

“Hey, you take that back!” Isabela playfully nudged him from the chair on his other side.

“Thanks, Merrill, that’s great,” Anders said, sounding a little strained. He seemed on edge, anxiousness radiating off him and seeping into Fenris’ skin. Considering what he had expected, Fenris thought things had gone relatively well so far, but Anders was obviously still uncomfortable. As soon as they were seated, he took the mage’s hand back into his and slowly, soothingly stroked it with his fingers. He didn’t manage to get rid of all of the tension, but he could feel Anders relax at least a little. Fenris flashed him a reassuring smile. _Everything will be fine, mage._

“Oh, Fenris is smiling – he looks so young when he smiles…” The witch was babbling just as much on the other side of the table. “And Anders’ eyebrows haven’t done that thing that makes you afraid they’ll jump out of his face and strangle you for weeks now.” She clapped her hands, smiling. “You both look so much less crinkly when you’re not cross all the time.”

Varric chuckled into his drink. “Now, don’t get your hopes up too much, Daisy; I’m pretty sure they’ll still find things to be cross about.”

“Oh yes,” Hawke laughed, “Templars, mages, slavers, each other…That’s going to be an interesting ride. But hey, if things go south, at least Anders will finally have an actual reason to call him ‘stray dog’.”

Laughter erupted around the table, a loud guffaw in some places, a tense chortle in others. Anders went completely rigid, his hand limp and clammy in Fenris’ own.

The witch watched the merriment around her with a profoundly bemused expression. “South? Oh, will they go back to Ferelden? Don’t you like it in Kirkwall? I know I miss the mud, sometimes… But wouldn’t Anders call Fenris a cat? He loves cats. He doesn’t really like dogs. Although he sometimes pets Ser Slobbypaws….and he always does a magic check to see if he’s injured after a fight when Hawke brings them both along.”

“You do that?” Hawke exclaimed.

“Of course I do. He can hardly tell us if he’s hurt, can he? Sure, he’s got nothing on cats, but Ser Slobbs still deserves better than your questionable care,” Anders huffed with dismissive haughtiness, yet his body remained tense.

“Hey, watch what…”

“Ah, ah,” Varric intervened, “let’s leave the dog out of it, alright? That’s the kind of joke Fereldens don’t take lightly.”

“Funny, everything else is a joke to him…”

“At least I don’t dramatize every fucking breath I take…”

“He meant if they break up, Kitten,” Isabela interjected, raising her voice over the others and smiling at a still clearly perplexed Merrill.

It only served to deepen her frown. “Why would they break up? They’re so in love. And they don’t really like talking to anyone else. Only to each other.”

The pirate reached across Sebastian and gently patted her arm. “Don’t worry about it. It’s just the wishful thinking of a fool.”

“I heard that,” Hawke muttered next to her, almost too faintly for Fenris to hear.

“Good, you were meant to.” She smacked his head, just a tiny bit harder than gently.

Hawke leaned back in his chair. He seemed about to say something, when Aveline nudged his side. “Hawke, there’s an issue with the guards I need your help with. A delicate matter. Can we go discuss this outside?”

“Sure, just a moment…”

“ _Now_ , Hawke.” She got up, glaring down at him with _the look_ everyone was secretly afraid of (Not Fenris, though. No. Absolutely not.). A few tense seconds later, Hawke sighed deeply and followed her outside.

“Whatever time works for you, Norah. Our throats are as dry as an over-roasted nug,” Varric shouted into the silence that followed their departure. There was a faint grumbling on the far end of the room, most of it unintelligible. What could be made out went along the lines of “entitled dwarf”, “bloody regulars”, “can’t even lift their spoiled arses to walk six feet”, “not paid enough for this nonsense”. Fenris was certain she deliberately waited an extra few moments, but at last their drinks were placed in front of them. It was a relief, if only because it gave him something to occupy his hands with. Anders had retracted his and was now staring morosely at the table. Fenris wanted to ask what was wrong – not that he really needed to, he had a pretty good idea – yet there was too much attention on them. It made him feel itchy, his tone gruffer than he intended.

“Are we finished? All profound insights and witticisms out of your systems?”

“You wish,” Isabela snorted. “I can go for hours… Isn’t that right, Kitten?”

The witch giggled; Sebastian groaned. “We are clearly making them uncomfortable. Whatever we all may think, now is not the time to discuss it.”

“Spoilsport.” Isabela rolled her eyes. “You have a point, though. It might be more fun to take our time with it…” Fenris didn’t like the grin on her face. Not one bit.

He sighed. “Do you have nothing else on your mind at all?”

“My mind’s spacious, sweet thing; there’s room for plenty of stuff at the same time…A bit like your _friend_ over there. How’s that working out by the way? You, and Anders, and Justice, all taut skin, and glowing, and mmm, such delicious, angry tension…They say three’s a crowd, but what do they know, eh? Hey, did I ever tell you about that one time…”

Fenris didn’t pay attention to the no doubt very detailed story she unfolded for the rest of the table. His eyes were on Anders,

“What is it, mage?”

“I’m fine, Fenris.”

“You are not. And I cannot help you if you do not talk to me. ‘Silence is a fertile ground for suffering.’ Your words, not mine.”

Anders sighed and finally lifted his head to meet his gaze. “Of course I’d blab out crap like that and it comes back to bite me in the arse... With this, you can’t help me either way. I know we agreed to leave it behind us, but…Hawke’s not wrong, is he? The way I used to treat you, it’s no wonder he thinks we won’t last…” He broke off and looked away.

“He does not. You said it yourself, jealousy and ‘thinking’ do not go together.”

“I know. Doesn’t make it sting any less, though. And I can’t even argue that jealousy or not, there should be at least some amount of decency, considering I was the least decent person in Thedas to you for years.”

“It was a long time ago, Anders. And I _have_ forgiven you. I am yours. I do not care what Hawke says.”

“At this point, I don’t even care if he breathes.”

Fenris nodded. “He went too far. Again. But he is still our friend.”

“Well, I don’t give a shit about him.” At Fenris’ quietly raised eyebrows, Anders sighed. “I might again, in a while. It’s going to take time, though. And only if he behaves himself…. You’ll tell me if he doesn’t, right? I can deal with the occasional barb at me, but if he _ever_ hurts you again …”

Fenris’ lips curled into a smile. “If he does, you will be able to tell by his limp.”

He’d thought with Isabela still talking loudly (she had moved on to a story about two of her former crewmen who were apparently _just like them_ ) no one would pay them any attention, yet next to him, he heard Varric chuckling softly.

 

Quite some time passed before Hawke and Aveline re-joined them. When they sat down, Hawke tried to catch Anders’ gaze, but the mage refused to look at him. So instead, Hawke turned to Fenris, mouthing “Sorry”. Fenris gave him a curt nod, and turned his attention back to the conversation he’d been having with Varric. He didn’t feel Hawke deserved more, at least for now. Not when the mage next to him was still so full of tension. He did spare a grateful smile for Aveline though. True to form, she shrugged.

“So, now that we’re finally all here, are we waffling, or are we playing cards?”

“You know, Choirboy, it’s moments like this that I get a hint of what you used to be like back when you were fun. Any chance you might change again?”

“I am not certain you could handle that, Varric. I had a well-known fondness for untamed chest hair in my wilder times.”

“Sweet Maker, did Sebastian just joke about….naughty things? There goes everything I thought I knew about the world flying right out the window.”

“Hardly the most baffling thing we’ve been faced with tonight, don’t you think, Hawke?” Sebastian replied calmly, shuffling the cards with his serene smile still firmly in place. “Now, let us play cards. This is far more exciting than the Chantry, yet not a place where I should linger for too long. Although it can be found everywhere, the Maker’s light shines brightest when you walk the path that leads towards him.”

“Now, there’s our Choirboy the way know and are bored by him,” Varric sighed. “But he’s right about one thing: It’s time for Wicked Grace.”

 

After the first few rounds had been dealt, Anders relaxed considerably. He was as hopeless a player as ever, but he didn’t seem to mind losing – especially when it was to Fenris.

“Does that go into the cake-fund?” H asked with a grin every time Fenris swept another stash of coin into his pockets. Not that this happened all that often, as usual, Isabela ended up winning most rounds.

The night went on in a jovial vein, with the occasional argument, but mostly with lewd stories, copious amounts of ale, questionable food and even more questionable gambling skills. Not wanting to test Norah’s dedication to not murdering them, Fenris had offered to take care of keeping their tankards filled. During his fourth trip to the bar – or maybe the fifth, he was having a good time and was beginning to get a little fuzzy on the details – Varric walked up behind him, scratching the back of his head with a lopsided grin.

“So, elf, I’m pretty sure I already know how this is going to go, but as your friend, I feel I still have to fulfil my duty of being the voice of reason…Anyway, here it goes: You know I like Blondie, sweetest possessed apostate in all of Kirkwall, but shacking up with him might not be the best idea. I’m not certain your mansion can house any more eerie blue glowing without the neighbours getting suspicious. And of course, there’s also that whole ‘mindless killing spree’ thing to consider.”

Fenris had expected meddling. Still, it stung a bit that it came from the dwarf. He tried to keep his voice even and merely raised an eyebrow.

“Do you truly think you can convince me to leave him?”

“Nope.” Varric shook his head. “Just making sure I can say I told you so if things go bad. So, now that that’s dealt with, how about I buy you a pint?” Letting his gaze sweep over their table, he added, “And I have to admit, it’s nice to finally cross Blondie’s face off my concerns-list. Looking at him is a lot less depressing these days.”

Fenris nodded, albeit hesitantly. “Are you planning to give him the same warning?”

“Already took care of that when you got our first refills. He just smiled sweetly and assured me I didn’t have to worry, his undying love for me would forever burn brightly. And if I said one more bad thing about you, he’d fireball me.” The dwarf chuckled. “He doesn’t quite have your manners.”

As far as Fenris was concerned, he didn’t need them. Just like he hadn’t needed to actually use a fireball to make every single part of Fenris’ body fill up with a gentle, tingly, so _utterly content_ warmth. He tried to at least fight the colour rising in his cheeks, but going by the grin on the dwarf’s face, he was failing miserably.

“You’ve really got it bad for him, eh?”

“There…” He resigned himself to accepting that his fight against the cursed blush was doomed and awkwardly cleared his throat. “There is nothing ‘bad’ about this.”

“Nah, elf, don’t crush my hopes like that; romance doesn’t sell without a little drama.”

“I seem to recall Isabela saying you were “shit at romance” anyway.”

“Well, that’s why I’m hoping for a happy ending – I could use the inspiration Not sure if I’d bet my coin on it, but I’ll be keeping my fingers crossed. And hey, at least Blondie’s just as head over heels as you; that’s not the worst set-up. Not that I’m an expert. Wanna get that pint now?”

Fenris pointed at their tankards. “I already have one.”

“Well, now you have two. Maybe you can convince Blondie to drink it. I feel like his sobriety is rubbing off on me.”

“Aren’t dwarves immune to that disease?”

“Best not to take any risks. Need help carrying them?”

“It would be appreciated.”

Fenris looked over at their table. Hawke had switched seats with Sebastian, who seemed to be using the opportunity to bore Aveline into a state of hazy-eyed despair, and was whispering intently with Merrill. Whatever these two were discussing, it had the witch’s arms flailing excitedly. And Anders…Anders was smiling, loudly, playfully arguing with Isabela, his face a little flushed, his posture relaxed, and when he caught sight of Fenris walking over, he blew him an exaggerated, giddy kiss. He looked like he was enjoying himself, and as always…beautiful. Fenris smiled. It had been the right choice to come here after all. But, he decided, once they had finished another round of cards and drinks, it would be just as right a choice to leave. It was getting late, and he wanted a few kisses, and the mage’s arms safely pressing him against his body, before he’d have to drop him off at his clinic.

 

 

“Hey, hey, wait a moment!” Hawke shouted as he jogged down the road after them. They hadn’t got far yet, but with the amount of drink he’d had, he was still slightly out of breath by the time he caught up. “Maker, you were gone so quickly, I didn’t have a chance to talk to you… Rumour has it you two went to see a play last week?”

“Yes, I took Fenris out on a date. What’s it to you?”

“Well, you didn’t exactly give him the luxury treatment, did you?” Anders bristled, but Hawke simply kept going. “A few nobles told me they were glad I had finally seen reason and demoted my scandalous associates to the back rows. I can’t let that stand, of course. You two are going to be scandalous in the front, right were you belong! I have an invitation for the show next week, same place we went to, Fenris. I’d like you to go instead. Food and all other expenses on me, of course.”

“Hawke, we have already seen that play,” Fenris reminded him.

“Oh yes, right, that’s what Merrill said too… I was referring to the midday show.”

“Midday show?” Anders stared at Hawke with undisguised mistrust.

Hawke merely shrugged. “Don’t ask me. But it’s still going to be packed - they’re nobility; they have too much time on their hands. Apparently it’s where they show the less risky plays, for the children and the frail – not that you are either.”

“I am not certain…”

“Ah, come on Fenris, think of it as a fun date. You’ll be able to scandalize Hightown’s finest right in the midst of them. A better view for everyone!”

“I quite liked the back rows…” Fenris began, but Anders interrupted him with a sigh.

“If it gets you to shut up, we’ll go.”

“You wound me; you know nothing gets me to shut up. But it might convince me to leave you two alone now,” Hawke said, winking. “I’ll give you the details when we meet Varric for that little merchants’ guild problem tomorrow.”

“I already told you, I can’t make it…”

“Yes, but Fenris can. Telling one of you should suffice, don’t you think?” One last wink, and Hawke turned and ambled back to the tavern.

“I don’t like you helping him tomorrow,” Anders muttered when he was out of earshot.

“Varric asked me. And Sebastian will be there too.”

Anders gave him a flat look. “Was that meant to console me?”

Fenris chuckled softly, pulling the mage with him as he resumed walking.

“Alright,” Anders relented, “I know it’s silly, and it’s not like I actually want to stop accompanying Hawke myself. I need the coin, and the stuff he gets into…it’s crazy, yet I wouldn’t want to miss it. That doesn’t stop me from wanting to kick him. Repeatedly. He tells me he’s sorry for what he did, and then he talks to me like _that_?!” He rolled his eyes. “And yes, yes, he’s jealous; I get it. I know how I’d feel if I lost you. But with everything he put you through, I’m afraid I’m all out of pity. Under different circumstances, I might cut him some slack…”

“You would not,” Fenris said, calmly but with a hint of a grin.

“I…alright, no, I wouldn’t. I’m the jealous type. I always have been. I’m working on it though; I promise. I know it’s annoying.”

“Yet more proof that I truly am yours: I find it endearing.”

Anders beamed in that self-conscious, not-quite-believing-it way that never failed to make Fenris’ heart clench. Perhaps because he knew exactly how it felt. “Really? I mean, possessiveness is generally not considered to be an attractive quality. And for you, it must be even worse…”

“Snarling at a man who has expressed interest in me is not the same as putting a leash around my throat. I would know.” He put an arm around the mage and nuzzled into his side. It felt warm; it smelled like home– and it quite nicely hid his newly-emerging blush. “It shows that you want me to stay at your side. That…feels nice.” _And it reminds me that I would be free to leave your side, if I wished to._ “If you overdo it, I shall tell you.”

“Please do. I don’t _want_ to be like that. It’s just…the thought of losing you…And Hawke was…”

“He provoked you, mage. I was surprised you managed to stay this calm.”

Anders heaved a sigh. “I was far too busy lamenting the fact that he had a point to kick his arse the way he deserved… At least the others seemed alright with…us. Well, some of them. I mean, we’ve got the demon-summoning blood mage on our side. That’s…something.”

“Speaking of the witch, _do_ you know dirty spells?”

“Well.” Anders stopped walking and turned to face him. “That depends. If I did, would you be willing to…try them?”

“We would have to establish their exact nature first. But I have a mage in my bed,” he cleared his throat and added, a little shyly, “and in my heart. Since fate chose to be ironic, I think it is only fair if that comes with…” he let the last word linger, “advantages.”

The mage pulled him into a kiss, whispering against his lips, “Now, _that_ is definitely something I’ll keep in mind…”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Oh, it is. I know ‘dirty spells’ that are going to blow your mind.”

“You do not need magic for that. But I am looking forward to them regardless.”

“You should be.” The mage winked at him, then placed a kiss on his nose. “And in due time, and after we’ve discussed which ones you’re comfortable with, I’m going to show you… repeatedly. How much do you want to bet,” he whispered into his ear, “that I can make you scream for more in every language you know?”

“Even Qunlat?” Fenris attempted to joke, breathlessly. There were teeth nibbling on his ear, and he really, really wished they weren’t halfway between their homes in a Lowtown street.

“Oh yes…”

Fenris’ reply was swallowed by another kiss. 


	20. Chapter 20

Fenris should have known better than to hope for a quiet time. They had left the Hanged Man less than an hour ago, and already Sebastian was starting to voice his disapproval. Naturally, in a tone that was as polite as it was amicable.

“When I return to Starkhaven, you are welcome to come with me. Our armies would benefit greatly from the knowledge of a warrior as skilled as you.”

“I appreciate the offer, but my home is here.”

Sebastian let out a chortle that sounded a little too derisive for Fenris’ liking. “As happy as I am to hear that you feel you have finally settled in in Kirkwall, your mansion is quite literally falling apart. I can assure you, Starkhaven would provide you with a residence that is more deserving of the term ‘home’.”

“It does not lie within a building.”

There was a long, not at all comfortable silence during which Sebastian’s face worked its way through several expressions. At last, he settled on shaking his head with a soft sigh.

“Do not think me unsympathetic; I am well aware that without a purpose, it is only too easy to fall under…questionable influences. Maker knows, I had plenty of those myself before the Chantry helped me find my path. That is why I think a change of location would be good for you. You could find a purpose, get him out of your mind.”

“I will not leave him,” he replied, with all the calm he could muster.

In front of them, Hawke and Varric had stopped pretending to be discussing something between themselves.

“Fenris, as your friend...”

There went his calmness. He snapped, “As my friend, you could make an effort.” A deep breath later, he added, a little more placably, “I know Anders can be...difficult. But you know how _I_ see him. What I feel for him. That should count for something.”

“I cannot say that I do, since you felt the need to keep your…involvement hidden from me. What I do know is that he is a dangerous man, an apostate and a heretic, who defiles the Chantry with his every breath, even the name of our beloved Andraste. He has no regard for the will of the Maker. I know it is not my place to pass judgement, so I merely urge you to reconsider, my friend. You have a loyal, honest heart, whereas he only cares about himself. He will drag you down with him. He…”

“That’s _enough_ ,” Hawke cut him off, in a tone so sharp it made Sebastian stop dead in his tracks, mouth hanging open in silent astonishment.

“I must say I am surprised, Hawke. From what I gathered, you did not approve either,” he said with a deeply furrowed brow when he finally regained his composure. 

“That was because of…personal reasons. It had nothing to do with who Anders is. A good man, who cares about just about _anyone_ more than he does about himself. Don't speak of him like that. I don't see _you_ leaving your gilded halls to devote your time to healing the poor of this city. Fenris’ heart is in good hands with him.”

“But you have to admit…”

“I said it was enough, Sebastian, and I meant it. Don’t force me to spank you with that fancy bow of yours. I doubt your grandfather would approve.”

The tension around them was palpable. But then a spark twinkled in azure eyes. “If family whispers are to be believed, that would not even be remotely the worst that bow has seen.”

“Well, if that’s your way of saying you’d like a little spanking, I suggest taking a more direct approach. I am more than happy to oblige if you ask nicely. But stop insulting my friends.” Hawke nodded curtly as he turned and started walking towards Hightown at a brisk pace.

They followed, accompanied by the low rumble of Varric’s chuckle.

“Well, someone’s changed their tune. I bet Blondie’s ears are ringing.”

“Officially, I never said any of this.” Hawke shot him a look over his shoulder.

Fenris gritted his teeth, nails digging into his fists as he calmly stated, “So you did not mean it.”

“I meant every word. I just don’t want Anders to think I’m sucking up to him.”

“Help me out here, Hawke - isn’t that exactly what you’re doing, oh repentant Champion?” Varric asked with a broad grin.

“Well, yes. Still, I’d like to be at least a _little_ more subtle about it...”

“Don’t take it personal Hawke, but I don’t think subtle and you really go together.”

Fenris couldn’t have kept himself from snorting even if he had actually wanted to. “Indeed.”

“I’m afraid I have to agree, my friend.”

 

 

Varric’s guild-meeting had been tedious, then heated, then bloody, then tedious again, and as they dragged their grimy bodies back through Hightown, Fenris was no longer surprised the dwarf usually did everything to avoid those gatherings, along with anyone even remotely involved. At least it had taken place early in the day, leaving him with enough time to go home, get cleaned up and changed and make preparations for the night. He was pretty sure Anders wouldn’t mind, but picking up your date wearing not only armour, but armour covered in bandit-bits, didn’t exactly sound like a scene from one of his beloved books. Hence his groan when Hawke suggested they swing by the Black Emporium first.

“Is this really necessary, Hawke?”

“Well, you heard the crusty dwarves, they want Varric to find some ‘lost’ artefacts, and the shrivelled-up weirdo might have some clues for us. If you’re looking for heaps of useless relics, who better to ask? And I can pick up a few ingredients Merrill has been looking for while I’m there. Who knows, you might find something nice for Anders, too. The place is like a magic box for…well, magic. And if we take the quick route through the cellars back to Hightown, we’ll have plenty of time.”

“Alright then,” Fenris relented. “But if you and the skeleton start another one of your ‘who can make his voice sound weirder’ games, I will not hesitate to abandon you right there.”

 

 

Anders greeted him with a kiss, and exhaustion in his eyes. There were no patients in the clinic, but the piles of bloody rags and empty vials still littering the cots indicated it had been a busy day.

“How was your time with Hawke?”

“It was…better than I feared.” He took Anders’ hand in his, following the ridges of his knuckles, stroking his thumb along the palm, tracing the lines at the centre, the soft mounds between his fingers. The skin was warm, slightly dry and split on some of the joints, faintly scratching his fingers as he interlaced them with the mage’s. A simple touch, and he had longed for it all day. He didn’t care what the others thought. This was home.

“Did he have more charming things to say about me?”

“No. He said I chose well.” Anders’ eyebrows seemed unconvinced. “Sebastian voiced some concerns…”

“Of course he did,” the mage interrupted him with a snort. “I was surprised he actually managed to hold back last night. Let me guess, I am a heathen maleficar, come to corrupt the faithful, steal your virtue, and corrode his shiny armour?”

“Impressively close. One could almost fear you read his mind.” He smirked, planting a kiss on the mage’s cheek. He had missed his scent, the warmth of his skin against his lips. And its taste, salt and earth and herbs and magic.

Anders chuckled softly as his mouth chased after Fenris’ retreating face, searching for a place to kiss in return. He found it on his forehead, repeatedly, soft pecks alternating with languid brushes of lips against skin.

“Rest assured, if I knew of such spells, I would not be wasting them on our Prince Shaming.” Fenris could feel the mage’s lips stretch into a grin. “Seems the Chantry was wrong about the dangers of Blood Magic after all. We’ve found the true threat – dying of boredom.”

He failed to fully suppress a giggle. Sebastian was his friend, but Fenris had no illusion that he would ever be one for Anders. “Do not risk it, then. Are you finished for tonight?”

“Yes, I’m ready to leave when you are.” The mage smiled. “Care to tell me where you’re taking me?”

Fenris shook his head. “It is a surprise.”

 

 

 

“This way, mage.”

Anders, who had been heading in the direction of the lift, turned towards him, confusion painted clearly on his brow. “But…this is the fastest route to Hightown? Or Lowtown, for that matter.”

“It is not far from here.”

“Not far from…here? Not to sound picky, but a date in the sewers isn’t quite what I had pictured…”

Fenris just smiled. “Follow me.”

They made their way through Darktown, the mage quiet as his side yet occasionally casting dubious glances his way. He pretended not to see them and strode on purposefully, hiding his amusement (as well as a certain amount of nervousness) behind an even face.

“Through here.”

“Isn’t that the way to…?”

“Welcome, _friends_ …” The emphasis put on the word was as unsubtle as the accompanying chuckle. Anders continued to stare.

“My thanks. It is appreciated.”

“Thaddeus will lead the way and wait until you are finished to escort you back. Follow closely. It would be….unwise to choose the wrong trap door.” Considering the cackle that followed, Fenris severely doubted the source was in any position to make judgements on the aspect of ‘wisdom”. Still, he did as he had been told. Hawke was a valued customer of the place, given that he had a lot of coin and little restraint, so Fenris was confident its owner would see no benefit in harming his friends. That did not mean he would not keep his sword at the ready.

Anders didn’t seem nervous about venturing into the bowels of the shop, yet his face remained a landscape of confusion as they walked through a trapdoor that only revealed itself after the golem touched it with some kind of stone cone, and down a rickety staircase that Fenris sincerely hoped could bear the massive thing’s weight. Artefacts and paintings lay scattered across the steps in careless heaps, dustier and more alien-looking the further they ventured. Although the stairs were leading downwards, Fenris could have sworn the subtle shifts in the currents of the air around them indicated they were getting closer to the surface. Flames that lacked both the colour and the warmth of fire illuminated their path, but they did not offer enough light to make out more than the staircase and an eerie absence of anything else on either side. Occasionally, they passed landings with adjacent walls of rock or soil. After an endless-seeming journey of what had probably not been more than ten minutes, the golem came to a screeching halt in front of one of them. 

“Why…” Fenris would have continued with “….are we standing in front of a wall instead of following the stairs?” but Anders interrupted him.

“It’s a magical warding. I can feel it.”

And indeed, the golem performed several intricate patterns with his hand and the cone and suddenly, there was a shift in the air that hit Fenris’ eyes like a prolonged blink. Not solid stone. Wood. And a door of the same material, already swung open for them. Their guide indicated for them to go through and once they had, turned and heaved itself several heavy steps back up the stairs.

“Is it…giving us _privacy_?” Anders asked incredulously.

“’It’ can hear. Yet it has no desire to,” came a low rumble from outside, followed by a few more thundering steps.

Anders shook his head, eyes staring at nothing for a moment. Then his gaze sought Fenris’.

“So…what is this about?”

“Look around you.”

After another puzzled frown, Anders did, and as he slowly took in the chamber around them, confusion gave way first to recognition, then surprise, enchantment, and finally a slightly imbalanced mix of incredulous delight and cautious concern. 

Around them, _all_ around them, were books. Books, Scrolls, Parchments, Stone tablets, Canvases, on shelves, in chests, on the walls, and on the floor. It seemed utter chaos at first, but it took only a second glance to realize that the order was in fact meticulous. It appeared haphazard only because of the diverse nature of what was being organized.

“This…this is a library? By the look of it, Maker, some of it must be _ancient_.” 

“So the excess of blinking you performed tonight has not damaged your sight,” Fenris replied, the hint of a smirk curling up one side of his mouth. It took him a moment to continue – Anders sticking his tongue out at him was distracting in ways that were decidedly not appropriate for this place. “He calls it his ‘library of the forgotten’. Most of it is on magic, although there are volumes on history and non-magical discoveries as well. At least that is what I have been told.”

“How did you even know Xenon had something like that?”

Fenris merely gave him a look.

“Yes…right, of course he does. But…how did you get him to let us in here? Maker, how much did that cost you, I mean…”

“Stories.”

_“Stories_?” The mage had gone back to incredulous staring.

“He is a dried-up skeleton stuck to a chair. He cannot die. What else would he have need for?”

“A cure?” Anders took a break from gaping for a brief quip.

“He _did_ mention you would be richly rewarded should you find one.”

“I’m afraid you should have chosen to date Merrill for that...”

“I’ll pass, thanks.”

Anders tittered, softly as if directing it into himself, and slowly shook his head, a smile beginning to spread across his face. Suddenly, it froze, along with the giggle. 

“Tell me those weren’t stories of our sex-life…”

Fenris raised one half of his mouth and one eyebrow in a perfect smirk. “That would have been too short a story.”

There was a pause. A blink. And another. “There are so many ways I could potentially be offended by this it’s hard to choose…”

It was Fenris’ turn to chuckle. “I was referring to things progressing _slowly._ There are no grounds for complaints when it comes to you.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

Fenris bit his lip, looking somewhere between Anders and the floor as he asked, “Are there…for me?”

The stare that followed was of a different nature than the one before. “Seriously? Don’t tell me you still don’t know you’re simply… _perfection._ Stunning. Gorgeous.” Anders grinned in a way that made heat rise up all through his body. “ _Gifted_. In every single way….and place…” He let the words linger in the air, obviously enjoying the blush that crept all over Fenris’ face. A blush and a, Fenris feared, hopelessly goofy smile. Anders bent forward with a wink and placed a kiss on his nose. “So, what stories did you tell him?” he inquired, breezily.

“He wanted to know what the ‘Tevinter-defying elf’ was doing with the ‘Tevinter-desiring apostate’…” He paused. “It was less condemning than it sounds. He enjoys the irony of our relationship. Or irony, in general.” His lips quirked upwards. “I believe it was Hawke’s constant questioning whether I didn’t want to get you a present that brought our bond to his attention. And yes, when talk came to this place, Hawke hinted at ‘possibly considering to buy a few more things’ - in a way that I assume was meant to indicate letting us in here would make him think faster. But…” he added, “we both know he would have bought them anyway.”

Anders shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of a stubbornly resisting mouth. “Did he go a little overboard again? I wonder if there’s even a single room in his estate that isn’t filled from floor to ceiling with all the useless crap he buys. No wonder he hardly ever lets us anywhere but the entrance hall and the library.

_His mother’s room_ , flashed through Fenris’ mind, but he dismissed the thought quickly. There were more important things to attend to. He had brought Anders here for a reason. Well, two reasons.

“I had another date planned for tonight. Then I learned of this place and decided to take you here instead. I thought the contents might be of interest to you.” Fenris nodded at the books. He smirked. “You might find some more dirty spells. And while Xenon won’t let you take them with you, he apparently has a powder that creates duplicates of pages. You are free to use it. And you do not have to look through all of them now. The dwarf took over the conversation and got you permission to come back two more times. Unless you disturb the urchin. The skeleton was adamant that you don’t do that.” He smiled. “He was also adamant that we do not eat in here. I made sure there is a table ready for us at the nearest place in Hightown. We can go there once you are finished.”

Anders was silent for a moment, hands in a restless flutter at his sides. Then he said, voice barely more than a whisper, “Fenris, this…this is beyond wonderful. But…why? I mean, this is magic; I didn’t think you’d be comfortable with that. You don’t have to…just for me….”

Fenris gently shushed him. “Last night, the others focussed mostly on what separates us. But that is not all there is. Nor is it what matters. There are books on healing in there. The knowledge in them could benefit you. Anders,” he took the mage’s hand into his. “You are a strong mage. I do not fear _your_ magic. You seek freedom, not power. That is something we share. Even if I do not agree with everything you want to achieve, I understand the desire.” He took a deep breath. “Given the price many, mages included, pay for it, I cannot claim I believe magic to be a gift. But I _know_ it is not a curse. I wanted to show you that.”

Before he could say more, Anders lunged forward and kissed him, fiercely, deeply, long enough to make Fenris feel dizzy. He pulled back, a hand on either side of Fenris’ face and traces of moisture in his eyes. “I am yours. I am so completely, utterly yours you beautiful, bloody elf… But…you know last night wasn’t about your stance on magic, right? It’s not you they don’t trust; it’s me.”

Fenris cradled his cheek in his palm. “They are wrong.” A few minutes passed in which they stood, silently connected through touch and gaze. Then Fenris softly said. “Go have a look at the books. I know you are itching to.”

“You really are alright with that?”

He nodded. “I would not have brought you here if I were not. I was told there is also a backroom of obscure magical artefacts. He cautioned their workings were entirely lost to history. That, I would rather avoid.” He smiled and gave Anders’ hand a soft squeeze. “But this I am comfortable with. I have no doubt you will be careful with whatever insights you may gain.”

In all honesty, the place did put him a bit on edge. Not in ways he could not manage though. And he would, for Anders, who had begun leafing through the volumes with the glee of a child. Well, a child with a hunger for magic-related knowledge and the patience to acquire it. He wondered if Anders had ever been like that. It was hard to picture the obstinate youngster who had escaped his jailers so many times as a dedicated student, yet he had to have been, to become a mage as skilled as he was. 

“Fenris,” his thoughts were interrupted, “you just _have_ to see this!”

He walked over with a smile and let the mage guide him through his discoveries.

 

 

 

Several hours later, when Anders’ growling innards had become too much of a disturbance to be ignored, they found the golem waiting for them a bit further up the stairs, unmoving like a statue. Although it had proven it could speak, it stuck to silent gestures as it led them back into the main room of the shop, from which Fenris had to almost physically drag Anders to end his bombarding Xenon with questions.

They had a quiet dinner, all the more wonderful for its complete uneventfulness. Fenris had chosen the location merely based on proximity, neither of them had been there before, but it did not disappoint. Cosy and understated, the soft tunes of a single minstrel filling the dimly lit room, the place offered excellent food and drink and an unobtrusive staff. They had a relatively modest meal (although Fenris did sneak in an order for extra ham and an extra cake for Anders, which the mage accepted with a happy crinkle around his eyes and nose), but laughter and warm, lazy chatter continued long after the last plate had been removed. It was way into the first hours of the still sleeping day when Anders finally walked him home, kissing him on his doorstep with more warmth and care than Fenris had once believed existed in this world.


	21. Chapter 21

They felt grimy and tired, and they hadn’t even made it halfway to the mansion yet. There had been so many sticky hands, so much _noise_ … Fenris wanted to sleep for a whole year. Anders was no less exhausted, so they had decided to skip going to a tavern and instead have a quiet meal at the mansion. A quiet meal followed by a whole lot of kissing, Fenris hoped, although it wasn’t entirely impossible they’d fall asleep in the middle of it.

“I’m still not convinced Hawke was really trying to do us a favour, and that this wasn’t just part of some evil ploy to separate us… And let me tell you, should you want children, I’d advise against dragging me to a midday show before approaching the subject,” Anders interrupted his longing thoughts.

“I do not.” Certainly even less after the day they’d had. “Unless… Do you?” Was that something Anders wanted? A family of his own? Fenris wasn’t sure he could give him that; he had no real concept of what a ‘family’ even was. And…children kind of terrified him. Thus, he was rather relieved when Anders shook his head.

“No. I would not be entirely unwilling, if that’s something you really want – I’ve always loved children…well, until this afternoon at least…and Maker knows there are enough who need a home – but I’m already quite busy worrying about myself…and you. To have yet another fate linked to mine, a _helpless_ one no less… I don’t know if I could deal with that. In another world, maybe...” He trailed off, wincing slightly. “But that’s not something we can decide right now; I shouldn’t have brought it up. It’s definitely too soon to have this particular conversation…”

“Perhaps. Yet after today’s ordeal, I can see why the matter would seem pressing.”

Anders slung an arm loosely around his waist and pulled him against his side. “Well, I assume we wouldn’t have _quite_ so many of them. They’re probably easier to handle in smaller doses… and when they come without snotty noble parents.”

“Do not remind me of them,” he groaned. “Do they really believe their stares and whispers are ‘subtle’? As if it weren’t enough that their offspring buried their grubby hands in our food.”

The mage’s chuckle rippled against his body in gentle waves of warmth and mirth. “You’re still not over that, are you?”

“One of them had her fingers in her _nose_ right before.”

“Oh yes,” Anders nodded, “children are a healer’s worst nightmare. Well, right after Templars. Demons. Bandits. Chokedamp…. Come to think of it, they’re not actually that high on the list. But you certainly don’t want them near your food.” Slow as their pace had been, they had finally reached the little square that led to Fenris’ mansion. “Speaking of which, is our ‘kisses for feeding me’ arrangement still in place?”

Fenris could hear the smile in his voice, and his lips quirked into one of their own in response. “It is and will always be, mage.”

 

The door still half ajar, they came to an abrupt halt in the entrance hall.

“Maker, what… Fenris why are there flowers everywhere?” Anders turned towards him with a frown. “You already went out of your way with the last date; you don’t have to…”

“I did not put them there,” Fenris cut him off, his brow equally furrowed.

“Oh. Then who…?” The mage took a few steps into the room and began to examine the path of petals that led from the door to the stairwell and continued up the steps and the intricate arrangements of vines and blossoms around the rails. He picked up one of the small potted plants that adorned the space between the two wings of stairs, studied it intently, then turned to Fenris with a quizzical look on his face. “I think these look like the ones Merrill keeps in her home?”

Fenris regarded them for a moment, an image slowly making its way to the forefront of his mind. “They do. She was…discussing something with Hawke during Wicked Grace. Animatedly.”

“Isn’t ‘animated’ pretty much her natural state?”

“More so than usual.”

The mage nodded slowly. “So…you think this is her doing? Or rather…her and Hawke’s? And he just send us to this blasted play so you’d be out of the house?”

“Perhaps. I am…uncertain.”

After a few more moments of profound frowning, Anders put down the plant and reached for Fenris’ hand. “Well, I guess we should simply go upstairs and see for ourselves.” He gestured to the flowers with his free hand. “We can probably rule out bandits. Unless it’s some _very_ disturbing ones.”

 

 

Fenris’ room had been decorated in a similar, albeit more modest, fashion. There were only a handful of flowers on the table and around the fireplace, plus a few more petals on the floor…and the bed.

“There was definitely magic involved in that one,” Anders said, nodding at the elaborate construct of vines woven across the hole in the roof. He pointed to the table. “And my guess is Orana is responsible for that.”

Food. Filling every inch of the table not occupied by flowers. His favourites. Anders favourites. A Tevinter pastry with a note sticking out of it. Another note attached to a basket sitting atop yet more petals on one of his chairs.

Anders carefully detached the note from the pastry. “It’s addressed to me,” he said, eyebrows knitted together tightly as he read it out. “ _I think Fenris meant for you to try this_ … Should I know what this is about?”

“I shall explain it to you later,” he replied, smiling despite himself.

“I’m guessing the other one is for you?”

Fenris picked it up. It took him a moment to figure out the words – his reading had improved considerably, enough so that books now felt like conspirators imparting a whole new world of knowledge, instead of enemies trying to keep it from him, yet Hawke’s handwriting was an entirely different matter. “It is for both of us.”

“What does it say?”

He offered the note to Anders. “It will be faster if you read it out.”

A gentle kiss was placed on his forehead. “Your pace is fast enough for me. Take your time….Everything sounds better in your voice anyway.”

So Fenris slowly, carefully, made his way through the words.

“ _I took the liberty to prepare a little something for you two… Consider it my grand gesture of goodwill. No need to roll those pretty eyes, Anders - I know I fucked up, and I have been informed my jokes are not always funny (outrageous claims!), and…I truly am sorry. I wish you nothing but happiness. I really do. You have Merrill to thank for the decorative aspects; we all know these are not my forte. I hope you enjoy the food (courtesy of Orana, as I had a feeling giving you food poisoning might not be an adequate way of expressing my regret), and here are few more things I thought you might like. Have a lovely day…and night_ …He drew something behind that which I assume is meant to be a winking face …. _Hawke_ ”

“There would be no need for grand gestures if he stopped doing this stupid shit in the first place,” Anders muttered, his face caught somewhere between a scowl and the dawn of a smile. 

“He likes being grand. And stupid.” 

“Still doesn’t make it right.”

Fenris smiled. “Well, he is right about one thing.” Anders raised a questioning eyebrow. “You do have pretty eyes.”

“Did…did you just manage to be smooth via another man’s letter?”

“It was a grand gesture indeed,” Fenris nodded gravely.

The mage shook his head, an amused twinkle travelling from his eyes to his lips, and reached past Fenris to grab the basket. “Well, let’s see what else he came up with, shall we?”

There was no space left on the table, so they sat down on Fenris bed and placed it between them.

The first item Fenris retrieved was met with two perplexed expressions.

“A…feather?”

“Apparently….” Anders said, peeking inside to examine the rest, “Is that… _scented oil_? Maker…he is not one for subtlety. Well, at least the feather makes sense now…”

“It does?”

“I shall explain it to you later,” the mage mimicked his words with a wink. He reached back inside and pulled out a bottle. “Agreggio Pavali…for you, I’m guessing…” He stopped abruptly, anger taking hostage of his voice and expression. “A _collar_? Seriously, Hawke?”

Fenris felt all colour draining from his face, hands starting to shake as he steeled himself for what he was about to see… and erupted into a fit of hysterical relief when he realized just what it was Anders was holding.

“I believe that one is meant for you,” he snorted, turning the little charm dangling from it around so Anders could see the inscription.

“Oh,” was the only reply to the elegantly curved letters forming the name _Ser-Pounce-a-lot_.

“Did you not notice the size? It would barely fit around my wrist.”

“I was too taken aback.” He huffed, “I still wonder what in Blight’s name he was thinking. As if I’d ever give that name to another cat! And it _is_ a collar…”

“I am not a cat, mage,” Fenris replied, trying and failing to suppress a giggle. The shock had worn off, but his tension still needed a way out.

“I’m not so sure about that… You do have some rather cat-like qualities… Your hair is soft, and the sounds you make when you’re content come surprisingly close to purring…” Anders outrage slowly faded into a distant look. “Not to mention that feeling you against my side makes the world seem like a much safer place...”

“In that case…” Fenris took the collar and fastened it around one of the metal rings on Anders’ coat. “To remind you of me. At least until I can get you something better.”

The mage frowned. “I like the thought of having something that reminds me of you on me at all times, but….I’m still not quite over the fact that it’s technically a collar…”

“Think of it as a cat-necklace.”

“Hmmm…I suppose that _is_ one way of looking at it. And since you really do remind me of a cat, that fits rather nicely.”

“Could there be a greater compliment from you?”

“Well, only one,” Anders said earnestly, cupping his face. “Telling someone: ‘You remind me of Fenris’.”

Fenris swallowed. “You should not be so sappy.” It took him a moment to continue, but at last he sighed. “And I should not like it so much.”

Anders pulled him close and gently kissed him. “I’m rather glad you do actually.” He let go of his face and started fumbling around with the collar, finally succeeding in removing the charm. He attached it to Fenris’ pouch. “To remind you of me. For now. I’ll come up with something better. Preferably something that isn’t linked to Hawke in some way…” His eyes lit up, and the broadest of grins split his face neatly in two. “Speaking of Hawke… a cat – _necklace_... So _he_ ’s giving me jewellery, hmm? You might want to up your game…”

“I shall remember to get you something shiny and sparkly for our next date.”

“Well, that joke would be on you. I know my sewer-fugitive-rebel-situation can be misleading, but I am in fact very fond of shiny, sparkly things. Even if Justice doesn’t see the point.”

“Good to know,” Fenris said, making a mental note to find at least one piece of jewellery he could give to Anders on their next date. He had no idea what the mage would like, but Isabela would surely help. She had a fondness for trinkets, if her outfit was anything to go by. And when presenting it to the mage, he would have to remember to mention the unjustness of giving away a gift someone had taken great care to find. Loudly.

In the meantime, Anders had resumed rummaging through the remaining contents, uncovering a few candles of different shades and scents, several new books for Fenris, a staggering amount of blank sheets of paper and ink for Anders, and a brand new set of clothes – _dating clothes_ , Fenris realized, not armour – for each of them.

“Well, at least some of it is useful. And some of it is…typical,” Anders said, shaking his head as he picked up the bottle of oil, opened and sniffed it. Fenris leaned over to test the scent as well.

“It does smell nice.”

It does,” the mage agreed. “And… it might just come in handy one day. Better keep it close.”

He winked at Fenris, and something happened in the pit of his stomach that made it impossible _not_ to kiss him. And kiss him again. Push him down onto the bed and press against him, sliding his tongue into his mouth and his hand underneath his shirt. Anders offered no resistance, the hint of a smile that had crept on his face when Fenris first straddled him quickly wiped away by the hunger of their kisses.

His hands were on the mages skin, tasting all its different ways of firm and soft, its heat lapping against his fingers, setting him on fire, inside and out, guts and skin burning, twisting and dancing with need, a voracious hunger that wasn't satisfied with a mere taste; it wanted to devour, to have and consume and Anders responded like he was all too willing to be swallowed up. Wriggling, clinging, and gasping in Fenris’ arms, he ran his hands along his sides, twirled his tongue around his and whimpered so deliciously it made Fenris’ head spin. Need coursed through every part of his body, the same torturous longing he had felt the last time, but with an entirely new level of urgency. It was no longer enough to explore; he wanted to claim, to crawl into Anders’ skin, closer, ever closer, kiss him until he tasted nothing but desire.

_Want_ was all that was left. Not just to have, but to give, give everything he had and was to Anders, feel him high and hungry and free in his arms. His body led the way, twisting itself around enough to make room, and he didn't fight it, his hand leaving its allotted territory, venturing south into Anders' trousers with no regard for any hesitation his mind might have had. Anders moaned, a shocked little sound, and Fenris felt himself go dizzy with lust.

It took everything he had to withstand it. But he did. He stilled, letting his hand rest atop the tantalizing heat of the mage's smalls, and allowed both of them a moment to breathe. His request was more croaked than said, but steady nonetheless.

“If you want me to stop, say it, and I will.”

The reply came instantly, hoarse and needy. “Maker, no, don't stop. Please.”

Hunger was lurking, ready to pounce and take over, but he held on, his voice a lot softer than he felt. “Look at me, mage. Are you sure?”

Anders thrust against his hand, a soft moan finding its way through swollen lips, eyes fluttering open, clouded but present, meeting his with a ragged smile. “Trust me, I couldn’t be surer.”

Something unfurled inside him, and he couldn’t deny that it was relief. He pressed a soft kiss on the mage’s lips as his hand, having finally been given free rein, slipped into his smalls with no thought for ceremony.

He had seen the mage undress for him, had lain naked in his equally naked arms, felt his release warm and sticky on his chest in the one night they had spent together, but he had not actively pleasured him; his hands had not dared venture there. Now, they did, and while he would have expected his touch to be wary, shy even, he found that his fingers wrapped themselves around the mage’s cock without the slightest hesitation, touching him, really feeling him for the first time, heavy, urgently hard and yet…soft, the meeting of their skin part rough, part gliding. He heard Anders gasp, loudly this time, felt him twitch in his hand, a trace of moisture greeting his thumb when he swirled it across the tip, and he realized with a faint sense of wonder that it felt… _good_. Or that in fact, good was not even a remotely strong enough word to encapsulate the sensation of the urgent heat of Anders’ cock, its weight in his hand, the sounds Anders was making, the sounds _he_ was drawing out of him, as manifold as the ways he could touch him, circle and pull, tease and give…

“You're smiling.” Anders’ voice plunged softly into the stream of his thoughts. He sounded slightly amused, and perhaps a touch bemused as well. “Any reason for that?”

“I...” cursed blushing skin, “...like touching you...there.”

“I am very happy to hear that indeed.” The mage was smiling now, too, an expression as soft as the tone of his voice.

_My experience has been different. I wanted it, but I was not sure what to expect._ He chose to nod instead of explaining. He had no doubt Anders would understand, but he also had little doubt he would insist on talking about it. The mage was considerate, and while Fenris did appreciate that, right now, he didn’t want to think; he only wanted to _enjoy_...to feel Anders in his hand, feel the ripple of reaction through his body, give him pleasure, watch him come undone... More than anything, he wanted to hear Anders cry out his name again, hold him in his arms, happy and sated.

So he picked up his pace again, unambiguous, fleshly noises filling the room from both above and beyond as the mage’s head feel back against the pillows, his eyes tightly scrunched shut, his mouth hanging open. Fenris found a rhythm, and then found when to break it, when to slow down and when to speed up, when to allow the frantic, instinctive thrusts of Anders’ hips and when to keep him in place, the time for steady strokes and sudden twists, sounds and movements revealing the first glimpses of all the secrets the mage’s body still held for him.

He felt the tension building in Anders’ body before he saw it. Finesse abandoned, he just about managed to keep up simple movements, mesmerized by the workings of Anders’ face, the expressions flitting across it, his low, guttural moans, interspersed with strings of _yes, please, Fenris, oh, yes, Fenris_ , _Fenris_. A shudder, a hoarse cry, warm wetness gathering on cloth and fingers, and still Fenris could not avert his eyes, Anders’ beauty, the raw, fragile core that was laid bare before him holding him captive. 

A beauty that didn’t diminish when the mage slowly began to calm, face flushed and messy, hair sticking out in every direction, and more lovely than anyone had any right to look. Anders opened his eyes, gaze on the ceiling as he drew a few shaky breaths. Fenris fumbled for what to say, for the words the mage deserved, but he wasn’t given the time to find them – Anders shot up, as smoothly as one of the felines he admired so much, and flipped them over. Eyes locking on Fenris’, he gave him a little wink and started to crawl down his body. His hands trailed along his chest and stomach, but didn’t bother to search for a way under his tunic; their path led them straight to the lacing of his leggings, which they unfastened with surprising deftness. Anders pulled both his leggings and his smalls down his thighs in one smooth movement and before Fenris had finished gasping at the realization, his cock was already freed, in a rush of cold air against heated skin. Fingertips followed, more tracing then touching, and then Anders began to…kiss it? Fenris eyes shot open in confusion, staring down at the mage just in time to see him do it again. And again. The mage showed no signs of noticing his staring, he was entirely focussed on Fenris’ cock, kissing it like in worship, soft pecks alternating with movements as lingering as a heated meeting of lips. His fingers gently caressed his balls, followed by his tongue, as if he was determined to lavish every inch with equal attention. Licking and twirling, stroking with lips, tongue, and fingers alike, the mage took his time. Fenris’ hands twisted in the sheets, eyes nervously snapping from Anders’ mouth to the ceiling and back again in an endless circle as wave after wave of merciless pleasure crashed against his body. He was gloriously hard, aching and anticipating, yet unable to believe Anders was really doing that – and about to do… _that_. Suddenly, Anders’ voice called through the fog of lust and disbelief. 

“If you're undecided were to look, you might want to choose downward...cause I'm about to swallow that gorgeous cock of yours, all the way to the hilt. That's a sight I think you might quite enjoy.”

His grin was cheeky, but the eyes that met his were full of lust. Lust and - there was that word again - love. There was so much of it, so open and freely given it took Fenris’ breath away. And then Anders did as he had announced and _Venhedis_... Fenris wasn’t sure if the curse had been a thought or a scream. His eyes were glued to Anders’ mouth, the sight of his lips stretching, impossibly wide, their pace teasingly, tantalizingly slow as he lowered them along his shaft, encasing Fenris in heat and silk, everything reduced to the smooth, soft wetness of Anders’ mouth. The mage gave him a few moments to savour the feeling before he began to bop his head. He maintained a steady rhythm, the movements mostly shallow, only to reduce Fenris to uncontrollable gasps when he suddenly took him almost all the way in, or he let his tongue do wicked, divine things, sucking and licking, and all that _heat_ …

Occasionally, Anders angled his face so he could look up at him, eyes still so full of… _everything_ ,meeting Fenris’ as he choked himself on his cock, until Fenris thought he would lose his mind for good, along with the ability to lift his head far enough to hold the mage’s gaze, to think, or control the sounds that spilled from his lips. He thrashed about the bed, nothing left but sharp, searing pleasure, a gaping abyss he was floating in, separated from his body, and yet trapped in it, his whimpers as helpless as they were longing. He was lost…

A hand, a hand that reached out for his, squeezing, fingers tracing soothing patterns, finding him, anchoring him. He was still there; he was safe. He was with Anders.

“Don’t…don’t stop,” he rasped out, realizing the mage had slowed almost to a halt. “Please. Please continue.”

And Anders did, hand still firmly in his as he resumed pleasuring him in ways Fenris had thought would forever remain dreams. 

 

 

They lay panting, curled into each other, the mage’s fingers carding through his hair and Fenris’ cock slowly cooling in the late-afternoon air, memories of Anders’ mouth still on it - not much else, though, Anders had been rather meticulous. Fenris still couldn’t quite believe he had done _that_ , too. He had tried to warn the mage, as far as ragged stammers and frantic hair pulling could be considered warnings, but Anders had ignored him, continuing his ministrations all the way through his release. It seemed he truly hadn't minded, which Fenris found baffling, to say the least. Baffling, and in a strange way also…comforting.

“Maker, that was incredible...” The mage’s voice was low, his eyes gleaming in the dim light of the room.

“It was.”

“Are you alright with what I did?”

Fenris decided that question deserved neither motion nor expression. “Yes, mage. A shocking revelation, I am sure.”

He was rewarded with a low chuckle. “Well, I take it I haven’t lost all of my skills, then.” He most certainly hadn’t.

Fenris cleared his throat. “Are you alright with...what I did?”

“In equally shocking news, yes.” Anders smiled, more with his eyes than his lips, as he gently stroked a finger across Fenris’ cheek. “You didn't expect to like it, did you?”

There was that treacherous flush again, heating his cheeks and making it hard to meet Anders’ eyes. “No. But I did.”

“I'm glad you did...and that you, you know, _did_. That was rather spectacular. But if you ever realize you don’t like it after all, remember you don't have to do it, alright?”

Fenris brow furrowed. “That could hardly be avoided.”

“Fenris, there’s nothing that _has_ to happen. Our own way, remember? Should it turn out that cuddling is all you want, then that’s all we’ll do. Don’t get me wrong: I want you, and I love sex, but it’s not something I _need_ to be happy with you…I just wanted to make sure you know that.” He placed a soft kiss on Fenris’ nose. “Although I probably should have mentioned that, you know, _before_.”

Fenris’ raised an eyebrow. “As I recall, _I_ was the one who instigated this.”

“Oh, believe me, I remember. And I was quite fond of the way you ravished me, no complaints here. I’m just making sure…”

“And I am grateful. But as I thought I had made sufficiently clear, I want more than cuddling.” He smirked. “Although more cuddling would also be appreciated.”

“Can’t say I’m sad to hear that,” Anders said with a wink. “Both parts.” He shifted, chuckling softly. “Although you did ruin some perfectly good pants - these had the least holes in them; I wore them specifically for you...not that it wasn't worth it...”

“You could bathe.”

“You have a _bath_?!”

 

 

Anders squealed in delight at the sight of the bathtub. “Maker, it might even be big enough for my legs to fit in! And this place has actual plumbing?! Can I use magic to heat the water?”

“Of course,” Fenris replied, smiling at the mage’s unabashed glee as he showed him how to fill the tub.

He made to leave once Anders’ had got the water to the desired temperature, but the mage called after him.

“Would you mind staying? I'd like that…”

“I...bathing someone is...”

Anders face grew impossibly soft. “You don't have to do that. Just....keep me company maybe?” 

“I can do that,” he nodded.

They carried one of Fenris’ wooden benches over to the tub, and he sat down next to it while Anders quickly undressed and got inside. He watched as the mage lay back with a deep, satisfied sigh, resting his head against the rim and closing his eyes. The contours of his naked body were slightly distorted by the rippling water, yet clearly visible. _Mine._ Fenris frowned, prodding at the thought. It still felt unreal. His. Not someone he owned, but someone who belonged to him. Who had chosen him. He let his eyes wander, taking it all in, imagining the day when he would know this body like his own, when it would be as familiar as Anders’ face had become.

“See something you like?” An amused voice shook him out of his reverie.

He turned his gaze to see love, clad in warmth and amber, look back at him.

However the mage did it, just one look seemed to be enough make Fenris feel safe, to fill him with confidence, every single time. He nodded.

“I like the view. I...enjoy admiring what is mine.”

Anders reached for his hand, dripping fingers intertwined with his.

“’Admiring’…I must admit, I do like the sound of that. Anything in particular you want to do with it?” He grinned. “Or things I can do for you? Maybe things you imagined during those…alone-times you mentioned when we shared that dance?”

Fenris blinked. “I was a fool to think you would let this go.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, however. Embarrassing a question as it was, it did not feel awkward coming from Anders. Well, at least not _that_ awkward.

“One…one of them was fulfilled…today.” He cleared his throat, managing to blush only a little at the downright saucy smirk on Anders’ face.

“I had a feeling you liked that.” His expression softened. “First time?”

“You know it was.”

“Did it live up to the fantasy?”

“It was better than anything I could have dreamed.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Fenris.” Anders lifted his hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on every knuckle. “So…what other fantasies did you have? I’m pretty sure we can fulfil most, maybe all of them.” Fenris could feel a flush spread all the way up to the tips of his ears. The mage smiled, splashing a bit of water in his face with his free hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to spill it all at once. Just keep in mind, it’s easier for me to give you what you want if I know what exactly that is.”

“What if you do not want it?”

“Then I won’t do it, just as I don’t expect you to do things you don’t want to do.” He trailed his lips along the back of Fenris’ hand. “But you never have to feel ashamed for _wanting_ , or telling me about what you want. And to be honest… when it comes to you, there’s very little I can imagine _not_ wanting.”

“I shall keep that in mind.”

Anders glanced down his body. “…Right. We’d…better change the subject. And you’d better watch that tone, Serrah, a man can only resist so much…”

“I never asked you to resist,” Fenris pointed out.

“I know, and that’s not exactly making it easier. But I haven’t forgotten the expression on your face, so maybe not when I’m in the bath…not right away, at least.” He gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “So…how do you usually heat the water? “

Fenris nodded to the far end of the room. “There is a grate above an opening in the floor. It offers room for a small fire. But I usually do not bother with it. The pots are annoying to carry, and the smoke is unpleasant. Cold water is sufficient to clean myself.”

“Do you want me to heat up another tub for you afterwards?”

“I…”

Anders seemed to sense the things Fenris hesitated to say. “I could leave you to enjoy it all by yourself. I’m starving anyway. You could relax for a bit, and I’d be right outside the door. No one would disturb you.”

“It does sound nice,” he conceded, his voice timid and wistful. With Anders keeping watch outside, perhaps he could really do this.

“Well, that’s settled, then. Just give me a few more moments to relax.”

“Take as long as you wish, mage.”

 

 

When he returned to his room, having decided that bathing was something he should let Anders talk him into more often, there was considerably less food on the table. It was still more than enough to ensure Fenris would be able to stuff himself until he could no longer move, however. The mage had obviously been busy - and still was, shovelling the Tevinter pastry into his mouth with a blissful expression on his face.

“Maker, this is so good.”

“You like it? Really?”

“Yes. Why? Is this some secret test?” Anders asked, grinning broadly and exposing a lot of half-chewed food in the process.

“No. I am merely glad to hear you enjoy it.”

“I’m enjoying it indeed...” Anders trailed off, eyeing the half of the pastry he’d left on the table. Fenris dashed forward to grab it.

“You trust me with your heart but not with your dessert?”

“That is correct.”

 

 

They devoured everything, down to the very last crumb. Once they were finished, Anders got up to light a fire, then crawled into Fenris’ lap. Nestling his face into his hair, he mumbled. “I should be on my way soon. It’s getting dark outside, and I still have some work to do today.”

_Do you have to go?_ Instead of asking, Fenris nodded.

For the first time since Anders had suggested it, he felt he understood why the mage wanted to progress slowly, why he worried pleasure might drown out everything else - Fenris wanted more of it, now. And forever afterwards, every single part of him hungering for Anders’ touch. Perhaps it was truly best to not to let it take him over so completely right away, to have some time alone to take a breath, clear his thoughts. It was comforting to know Anders understood that, had been trying to give him that, comforting to know the mage...loved him. And would not stop even if his touch became unwanted. Which it would never be. Still, it was good to know.

So all he said was, "I am yours."

 

 


	22. Chapter 22

“How about this?”

“No.”

“That was direct.” Isabela managed to sound just a tiny bit put off beneath the low rumble of her chuckle.

He dared another glance at the monstrosity she held in her hand, a blinding mass of gold, gems, and dubious carvings he had a feeling it might be better not to examine too closely.

“I assure you, I was holding back.”

“Hey, you said he liked shiny, sparkly things… And he likes making Sebastian uncomfortable even more. Can you think of a better way to do that than by showing him he has the bigger….belt buckle?”

“One that does not turn taking off his trousers into a life-threatening endeavour, perhaps? If that thing falls, there will be blood.”

It dawned on him that he had made a mistake when a wide grin was flashed his way about half a second later. “Life-threatening, huh? You mean if it, like, fell on your head? Tell me, where _exactly_ is your head in this scenario of…taking off his trousers…that his belt buckle could…fall on it?” She drawled the words out slowly, obviously enjoying herself. “Not that I’m imagining it…”

“You are, aren’t you?” He couldn’t quite determine whether his sigh was one of frustration, or of fondness.

“Mmmm, oh yes, I am….Hey, don’t blame me, you two make quite a pretty picture. All this brooding intensity and glistening skin…”

An equally undecided sigh. “Let me know when you’re finished. I shall keep looking for something _useful_.”

 

When he had asked the pirate to help him find a piece of jewellery for Anders, she had nodded, finished the remainder of her drink in one go and rubbed her hands in anticipation. Her enthusiasm had noticeably cooled when he had refused her offer of ‘you distract them; I take their stuff’.

Truthfully, he didn’t have all that many qualms about stealing – trying to survive as an escaped slave had taken care of that – but this was a gift for Anders, and he wanted to do it the right way, invest coin as well as time to find something special. As special as the mage.

That explanation had only served to make her pout. “You can’t put a price on the thrill of adventure! And I bet your lover won’t care whether you paid for it…or at least the non-glowing half of him won’t.” She cackled gleefully, as if the joke had been hilarious. 

“Are you going to help, or not?”

“Of course I will. I’m not going to let those vultures take advantage of you – if you want easy coin, look for either the drunk or the smitten. Trust me, I would know.” She winked. “Besides, Anders deserves something nice, and you have no idea what to look for.

As much as he would have liked to protest, she had a point. It was, after all, the reason he had come to her in the first place.

 

 

Since they had been in the Hanged Man anyway, they had started their search in Lowtown. Unsuccessfully, although certainly not due to lack of expertise on Isabela’s part. She knew just about every stall and shop Lowtown had to offer, be they legitimate of shady, and she had dragged Fenris through all of them with unwavering determination. Now, she was doing the same in Hightown, with, so far, the same results.

Like all the others before, the stall they were currently examining offered a seemingly endless amount of tasteless trinkets, most of which Fenris dismissed at first glance. There was, however, a brooch in the shape of a feather. He liked the idea, in theory, but the thing was tinted in a rather unappealing shade of “might be green, might be grey” and almost as big as his hand. Still, it was the first item that reminded him at least a tiny bit of Anders, so he picked it up to show it to Isabela.

“Please tell me you’re joking, you poor clueless thing. Those are for grandmothers…blind grandmothers. Put it down and step away from the stall, right now. I’m still busy… _picturing_ …you two, and I don’t want that thing to show up anywhere in my fantasies.”

Discarding the brooch, Fenris couldn’t help wondering just how accurate these fantasies might be – she had, after all, shared Anders’ bed in the past. Of course, years had passed since then, and the mage had changed in more than one sense, but still, in some ways, she knew him as well as Fenris did. He hadn’t been lying when he had told that it didn’t bother him. It did, however, leave him with doubts. Isabela was experienced, in all the ways he was not. Perhaps in ways Anders thought he could not tell him he desired. It would be just like the mage to put his concern for Fenris first.

Well, if there was one person who wouldn’t mind him just asking bluntly…

“I have a question. You and the mage were intimate…”

“ _Intimate_? Don’t use such dirty words.”

“I apologize. Do you have a preference as to which vulgarity I should use instead?”

She slung an arm around his shoulder and patted him on the head in a manner that felt at the same time patronizing and affectionate. “No need to get all caustic on me, pretty boy. Let’s just go with ‘We enjoyed each other’s bodies in a casual yet caring way’. Does that satisfy your earnest little heart?”

“If I were you, I would be more worried about my own heart,” he replied with a mock-growl and an elaborate show of curling his fingers into a fist.

She was, as ever, not impressed. “Uuuuuuh, I am shivering.” She gave his shoulder one last firm little squeeze, then let go. “I forgot about that ‘no-touchy’- thing of yours. Won't happen again. I just hope it doesn't also apply to Anders… ” She winked in her usual, flirtatious manner.

He realized belatedly that she had, in fact, been touching him – and that it had not only not registered, but also not made him unconformable. It had simply felt like the casual, benevolent touch of a friend – not that he was in any way familiar with those, he had pretty much always shied away from what he had watched, with a mixture of repulsion and envy, the others share right from the start. Perhaps he could have those now, too. He didn’t want to hold anyone’s hand or crawl into their embrace like he did every time he saw Anders, but maybe he could pat Aveline on the back the way Hawke often did, or have his arms around the dwarf’s shoulder when the drunken singing began, or hug Merrill when she…well, no, probably not that one. And it was probably also best if the first person he informed that the occasional friendly touch might be welcome was not the woman with little to no regard for personal space.

Therefore, he took his time to reply, lining the words up carefully. “Anders is…different.”

“You can say that again,” she snorted. “I’m glad for you, though. Normally, I’d advise against trusting people, but…he really gets you, doesn’t he?” There was an unusual warmth to her smile. “So, what was that question of yours, sweet thing?”

“How do I know if I…please him?”

He had no one but himself to blame for the snickering that followed. “Ah, I see….so, how do I best put this – is there need for a rag?”

“I… _That_ is not a problem.”

“Then what is the problem?” She did her best to restrain herself to a grin this time. He liked to think it was because his scowl filled her with trembling awe, not because she took pity on him.

He could, however, not deny that the way he fumbled for a reply was just that - pitiable.

It didn’t make finding the right words any easier, though.

“He...what he gives me. How he makes me feel. I want to do the same for him.”

Her expression softened. She nodded slowly, as if to herself. “Seems there’s no way around the boring stuff … So, with your lanky, sparkling mage, I don’t think it’s about technique or tricks. He knows enough of those, and he’ll be more than happy to teach you.” A hint of her trademark grin snuck back onto her face. “He’s a giver, that one, and he loves to show off and lecture. He’s changed since then, but I’ll bet _that_ ’s still the same. And don’t worry, you’re going to _enjoy_ the lessons. But when it comes to what he really needs…. Show him you want him, that you think he’s handsome, that you like him exactly the way he is … And while you’re at it, he could use some help getting that stupid idea that he isn’t good enough out of his thick head.”

“That…is not what I expected from you.”

“I can be serious…But shhh, don’t tell anyone.” She gave him a playful wink. “Of course, if you’re looking for more _fun_ advice, there’s this one thing you can do with his balls that reduces every man to a quivering mess of pleasure... I’ll give you detailed instructions. Unless, of course, you’d prefer a demonstration…” Her grin sent his imagination running in several directions at once.

“I…instructions will be enough, thank you,” he replied, face a deep shade of pink.

“Spoilsport.”

Fond. His sigh was definitely fond.

 

 

They kept rummaging through stalls and shops, leaving all of them empty-handed. Just when Fenris was about to despair, something caught his eye. In the last place he would have expected.

“You know me, I always advocate for toys, but _these_ are not exactly what I had in mind. Or does Anders have a secret collection of tiny dolls and wooden horses I didn’t know about? In that, case I demand you tell me every little detail right now!”

Fenris stepped up to the stall that obviously specialised in children’s wares, ignoring both her jokes and her questioning glances as he reached for the tiny rack laden with the kind of trinkets only Hightown residents would ever consider buying for their children.

At last, Isabela caught on. “Uuuh, let me see that. It’s lovely. And shiny. Too bad it’s not gold but…”

“Is gold required?” Fenris asked, slightly alarmed.

“No, it’s just what I would have chosen. I like gold, in case you hadn’t noticed,” Isabela said, rattling her bracelets. “But your gift can be whatever you like.” She pointed at the red cloth that was tied around her arm. “See, Hawke didn’t give me gold either; he gave me something that is special to him, and I adore it. So will Anders. Don’t fret, Kitten.”

“ _Kitten_?” He stared, incredulous.

She snorted. “For a moment there, you looked exactly like Merrill does when she gets anxious. You elves have such pretty eyes…”

“Not this again,” he groaned. He hated it when she did that. He was an elf, not ‘elves’, and he had about as much in common with the witch she had chosen to bed as with the Arishok. Possibly, less. 

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself. Hers still beat yours any day. All that frowning is beginning to leave its marks.” He was about to protest, profusely, but she ignored him, turning the little earing over in her hand with an appreciative nod. “He used to have one; I remember that. But this is so much better…. a tiny cat licking its paw. Now isn’t that just the cutest thing!”

“Are you certain? I thought it would be nice to remind him of something he…loves.” He mumbled the last word a bit awkwardly, even though he was fairly certain the pirate would assume he was referring to what the earring portrayed. Which he was. For the most part.

“This will remind him of several things, Fenris. The silver’s a good fit for your hair, and look at those little emerald eyes – like someone plucked out yours and shrunk them. …. Trust me, sweet thing, he’ll love it.”

“Then, I shall buy it.”

“Perfect. Does that mean we’re finished and you’ll walk me home and buy me a drink? Don’t forget, I spent all day _selflessly_ running around to help you…”

“Drinks it is.”

 

 

In the most unsurprising turn of events, they had run into Varric in the Hanged Man. Equally unsurprising, he had invited them to his suite to recover from the day’s exertions. While the dwarf enjoyed their stories about incompetent merchants and overpriced wares, he merely raised his eyebrows at Anders’ gift.

“Sure you want to give him that? The other boys might laugh at you if you date the guy with the little girl’s earring.”

“Then the other boys are fools. I do not listen to fools.”

“That’s what I always say,” Isabela nodded, slamming her tankard on the table with enough force to cause its contents to slosh on the table. “Good on you. You tell them!”

The dwarf still didn’t look convinced, but raised his hands in defeat. “Well, I know when I’m outnumbered. Just don’t be surprised if my next book is called ‘The mage with the cat earring.’”

“I shall only be surprised if it is good.”

“Alright, elf, that’s it. The next round is on you. I hope it was worth it.”

“It was.”

They were just about to order their third round when a weary-looking Hawke arrived, accompanied by an equally exhausted Sebastian and Aveline. In the process of cleaning out a smugglers’ nest in Darktown, they had somehow stumbled upon the ancient lair of a Pride Demon.

“Just another Tuesday in Kirkwall,” Hawke pointed out as he plopped down onto the chair next to Fenris with a relieved sigh.

All of them sported traces of blood and goo, but apparently Merrill had once again forgotten that mages were meant to attack from the sidelines and managed to be hit by even more disintegrated-demon than Aveline. She had been in dire need of a bath, so the others had had made sure she got safely back to the Alienage and then decided that since they were in Lowtown anyway, they might as well drop by the Hanged Man.

“The day way lousy enough, I couldn’t let it end without at least sharing a drink with my favourite dwarf. And of course a kiss with my favourite lady....and as it turns out, the company of another one of my favourites. It's good to see you Fenris," Hawke said with a crooked smile. "Is everything alright? How is Anders?"

“He is fine.” He hesitated briefly. “Hawke. Thank you for the...date you arranged. You are generous. And the food was delicious. But it was unnecessary.” His words came out more formal than he had intended. And although Hawke smiled as broadly as always, his assurances that it had been very necessary indeed, that they deserved it, and that he hoped they’d had fun sounded almost as stiff and uncertain as Fenris felt.

His gratitude was genuine, and most of his anger had faded – if he was honest, largely because he was simply too _happy_ to care – yet something in the way Hawke looked at him had changed, just as undeniably as the way Fenris felt in his company. Over the years, they had got to know each other so well that Hawke’s presence had become tantamount to safety. Now, it seemed closer to uncomfortable.

Would it ever be like it used to be between them again? It was hard to imagine that one moment, no matter how awful it had been, could be enough to destroy something that had felt as solid as Sundermount – even when Hawke had chosen the pirate, leaving Fenris to pine after him like a hopeless fool, he had still been his friend. There had never been any doubt about that, and for all his jokes, he’d always sensed when Fenris really needed someone to talk to, and he’d listened. Every time. And somehow, when enough darkness had been poured out of him, Hawke had sensed that too, and joked the light back in. They’d had fewer earnest talks in the last years, even before Fenris and Anders had got closer, but there had always been reading lessons, card-nights, jobs, companionship and friendly teasing. Was that gone for good, or could he get it back? If being with Anders meant losing it, it was a price Fenris was willing to pay. But…he would prefer it if it did not, if there was a way to keep his closest friend… No, he smiled to himself, that no longer rang true. Anders was his closest friend, just as much as he was his boyfriend. But Hawke was not far behind. _If_ he still was… 

He was grateful for the interruption when the pirate nudged his shoulder and asked him to show them the gift he’d found for Anders. Talking to Hawke seemed less of a task when it wasn’t just the two of them, their old harmony easier to fall into when they were carried along by the familiar rhythm of the group. When they had been out on the job with Varric and Sebastian, there had even been a few, brief moments that felt like nothing had changed.

“Looks like something a petulant child would wear. I’d say he’ll be delighted.” Fenris raised his drink to his mouth to hide his smile. Only Aveline could manage to weave so much grudging warmth into an insult.

Hawke appeared to be at least as delighted as she had predicted Anders would be. “Where did you get that? Do they also have little mabaris? What do you think, would I look dashing with an earring?”

“I do not recall if they had any in the shape of dogs. But I approve of the idea of an earring for you.”

“Because you think it would look good, or because you like the thought of someone sticking a sharp object through my earlobe?” Hawke winked at him, and for a moment, his friend was back. As it turned out, the half-smirk Fenris had so often had for said friend was not far behind.

“Does it have to be one or the other?”

“I’ll just take that to mean you’d like to be there when the mutilation happens. Consider yourself invited.”

“It is appreciated.”

“So,” Hawke cleared his throat, the warmth not gone but some of the awkwardness returning, “are you going to give it to him tonight?” 

Fenris shook his head.” I will not see him tonight. He has work to do.”

“Don't tell me he doesn't have time for you because he is working on that ridiculous manifesto.” The contemptuous expression on Sebastian’s face faltered a little when Hawke’s head whipped towards him with the same precision he displayed when throwing his daggers.

“It matters to him,” Fenris replied curtly. He didn’t need anyone’s approval; Sebastian could be as displeased as he liked for all Fenris cared. However, if he insisted on insulting the mage _again_ , Hawke’s glare would be the least of his worries.

“So, when will our ever-busy Blondie get his present?” Varric asked, his pointedly light tone indicating that he was about as interested in another discussion as Fenris was.

“He has a date planned for us the day after tomorrow. Perhaps then. I haven't decided yet.” He shrugged, turning his attention to Aveline. ”As for that date, can I talk to you alone for a moment?” 

“Why, do you two need a chaperone?” Hawke joked. 

Isabela clapped a puzzled-looking Aveline on the back. “Well, big girl here would certainly be perfect for the part.”

“Unlike you, who would just join in,” Hawke pointed out.

“You’re one to talk, you’d be out of your clothes before they’d have time to blink.”

Raising both hands in front of his chest in an emphatic gesture, Hawke exclaimed “I would do no such thing!”

Varric chuckled. “I assume that is less due to lack of interest than to Blondie threatening to fireball your...well...fireballs?” 

Hawke nodded gravely. “That tends to take the fun out of a threesome.”

“He threatened to harm you?” Sebastian sounded appalled.

“Trust me,” Aveline said as she got up and nodded first to Fenris than to the door, “he deserved it.”

“Oh yes, he did.” Isabela agreed, raising her drink to Aveline in a mock-salute

“I can’t even argue with that…Alas, no threesomes for me.”

Isabela’s grin was merciless, but she spared Fenris a quick wink before she flung an arm around Hawke’s neck. “Such a shame. Just think of what you’re missing, all that delicious skin…and then there’s of course Justice. Technically, that makes four of you, all tangled up together…”

“ _Isabela_!” Aveline exclaimed, her tone more than a touch admonishing.

“Do not torture the man,” Fenris cut in, keeping his face even. “It causes great suffering to miss out on so many taut bodies.”

Hawke groaned. “That was uncalled for. Unnecessary cruelty! Maker, Anders seems to have rubbed off on you.”

“He does indeed like to do that.”

Hawke groaned even louder. “Fenris, when you say things like that....you know what, no, not going there. Didn’t you and Aveline have something to talk about?”

“Hawke, did you just....think before speaking?” Aveline seemed genuinely shocked

“Trust me, I’m as surprise as you are… And a bit scared. I might need a stronger drink.”

Aveline shook her head. “Well, you’re wrong if you think I’m buying. And you two! I know Isabela is a lost cause, but I expected better from you, Fenris.”

“Most unwise.”

 

 

As they went down to the bar, combining their talk with the vital task of fetching another round of drinks, Fenris explained why the date he had in mind required her assistance.

At first, she listened with a furrowed brow, then with narrowed eyes, and for a highly alarming period in between, with a combination of both. Fortunately, by the time he was finished, her face had un-scrunched itself and she was shaking her head with a pensive look in her eyes.

“I can’t decide whether to be insulted that you would dare ask me this, impressed by the idea, or mad at myself for never thinking of it myself. Donnic would have loved it. Grand, and yet surprisingly simple.” She was still shaking her head, leading Fenris to politely inquire.

“Have you settled on a reaction yet?”

She shrugged. “I think I might just go with helpful. It’s not like anyone uses the place anyway. Just give me a few days to figure out the logistics, and the Seneschals’ off-duty hours, and I’ll get back to you.”

“I appreciate it.”

Aveline propped her elbow up on the bar, tapping her fingers as if trying to get Corff to work faster. If that was indeed the reason, it wasn’t working. “Things seem to be better between you and Hawke?”

“Perhaps.”

“I hope you’ll get there, eventually. He means well, Fenris. Maker knows he’s an idiot, but he means well.”

“I am aware.” He smirked. “Of both.”

The pace of her tapping fingers slowed as Corff approached with the first half of their drinks. “I thought you should know, I asked Merrill to pester Hawke about never taking her along on jobs. I’d like her to step in for Anders for a while. Unresolved issues within your unit can lead to trouble in a fight…I think for now it’s better if they only clash during Wicked Grace. I’ll take a spilled drink over a split skull any day.”

“That…might be for the best.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fighting at Anders’ side again soon enough. Hawke may be a stubborn child, but he also has the attention span of one. And Anders seems…calmer, now that he’s with you. It’s going to be fine, Fenris, just give it some time. For yourself, too.” She allowed a brief smile, then nodded firmly. “Alright, let’s grab our drinks and get back up there. I have pieces of demon in places where they have no right to be; I deserve to spend the rest of the day sitting on my arse. And don’t think I’ll let you steal away any time soon. I feel like it’s been months since we’ve had a real chance to talk.”

 

 

The sun had long set by the time Fenris got home. He prepared himself some tea (Anders’ influence, he realised with a smile) and sat down in front of the fire, staring into the flames. It had been a good day. He had found a gift, seen his friends; they had shared drinks and laughter. He’d had fun. It would have been nice to have Anders there as well, though, nicer still to have him here now. Fenris wasn’t bored, not really. He was used to being on his own; he had books to read, wine to drink, and thoughts to think. Still, things were…quiet without him. As much as Fenris had come to agree that it was better not to rush things, he couldn’t help longing for the day when Anders would finally spend his nights with him, when he would wake up next to the warmth of his eyes, that special twinkle Anders gave to no one but him, when the mage’s presence would fill the room, even if he just quietly sat in a corner working on his manifesto, when they would share all the tiny, insignificant parts of their days. And of course, when they would also...

His mind walked down paths that had his body responding, quickly, and he let it, allowed his thoughts to linger and his hand to wander…

He was hit by a flash of memory of how strange it had felt when Anders’ face had first crept up during this, back when he was still struggling to let go of the fear of punishment, the sense of disobedience and selfishness. Somehow, Anders’ encouragement had made it easier. This time, the images in his mind were as much memories as fantasies, and although it wasn't the same, tightening his grip, he could almost recall the feeling of Anders mouth. His own curled up in a half-smile as he imagined whispering into Anders’ ear, preferably over dinner in a crowded tavern, that he had been _thinking_ of him. He could almost hear the breathless little gasp that would escape him...He let the pictures come and go, languid thoughts as his hand moved, almost lazily. This wasn't urgent like his need for Anders; it was the quiet joy of a body he was finally learning to claim as his, and he was in no particular hurry, picking up the pace and slowing down again, trying to remember the loving, reverent touches Anders had bestowed upon him. He couldn't quite mimic those, but he could remember the sight of his lips around him, disappearing into his mouth, so impossibly deep, Anders’ hand caressing him, the way he had looked right before he came, the heat of his cock in Fenris hand. And he could imagine….other things they might do, things he might tell Anders when he asked about his fantasies again, the way the mage’s eyes would darken if he liked them too.

He closed his eyes, reclined his head and let himself be warmed by the flickering blanket of the fire and the heat spreading out from the pit of his stomach. Later, he would read a bit, practice his writing, and then crawl into bed to dream of nights to come. Tomorrow, he would help Hawke investigate allegations someone had made against Aveline - something that smacked so obviously of a ploy that the Knight Captain, usually Meredith’s devoted lackey, had actually deigned to warn them - and the day after that, he would see the mage. He would be with Anders.

This time, the loud knocking on his door did not frighten him. Instead, it filled him with anticipation. Hope. Eagerness in his steps as he hastened down the stairs, flung open the door – and was greeted by the warm smile he had so longed to see, and a soft kiss.

“It’s so good to see you, Fenris.”

He stroked his thumb along the mage’s jaw, his face in the grasp of a fool’s smile. “Did Justice agree to let you come here?”

The mage nodded. “I can't stay long but...I've missed you so much, I simply had to see you. And I found something to give to you….and I brought _this_ , too.” The delicious scent of apples wafted through the air as Anders raised a pie in front of Fenris’ face. “I thought we could share it, have some tea and talk a bit, just for an hour or so?” He flashed Fenris his most endearing, hopeful half-smile.

“Come in, mage.” Fenris smiled, leaning in to whisper into his ear, “I was just.... _enjoying_ thoughtsof you.”

Anders gasp’ was as delicious as he had imagined.

“Maker, don't tempt me...I really only have about an hour…”

“Then let us make the best of it.” He smirked. “The pie does look good.” He took hold of Anders’ hand, looking over his shoulder as he led him up the stairs. “And I have something I wanted to give to you as well.”


	23. Chapter 23

Fenris was bending over a shelf, sorting through potions. Anders had needed some time for himself - and Justice, he supposed - the nights before, and had announced he would need to work again tonight. Therefore, Fenris had decided to drop by at the clinic to help out. After all, the mage had said he was always welcome, and had showed up on his doorstep unannounced several times already. Fenris smiled as memories of his last visit drifted through his mind - pie and talking, soft kisses and cuddling on the floor in front of the fireplace, which was fast becoming Fenris’ favourite spot in the world.

Having found the potion he had been asked to retrieve, he carried it over to the mage. Anders rewarded him with the briefest of smiles, then turned his attention back to his patient, completely absorbed in his task.

He had been like that all morning, and it took Fenris some serious effort to push the worry that the mage might be overtaxing himself to some rarely-frequented corner of his mind. Anders had been running this clinic for nearly a decade now, and been a healer for much longer; he would undoubtedly not appreciate someone claiming to know how much he could take better than he did himself. Fenris would make sure he ate and slept, but unless the mage truly looked as if he were collapsing, he would not interfere. Instead, he would help out where he could, take some of the menial work off Anders’ shoulders. Which admittedly came with the added benefit of getting to spend time with him while doing so. Of course, Anders was busy during most of this time, but they were in the same room, could exchange the occasional glance, or smile, talk a bit when there was a quiet moment, and even when the mage was as engrossed as he was now, his presence was still soothing.

Tomorrow, he would take Anders to another reading of poetry – Antivan, this time. As the pirate had complained, “Everyone always focusses on those boring sticklers from Orlais, as if there was no art to be found in other places“, and he liked the thought of sharing something with the mage that would be new for both of them. Afterwards, he would have Anders all to himself for a few hours. Yet that was tomorrow. Today, Fenris had to fetch water. Spending time in Darktown, he had come to really appreciate the fact that his mansion came with indoor water pumps. Anders’ clinic had no such luxuries. He was fortunate that it was at least only a short walk to the nearest pump, although “short” was a relative term when you had to carry huge buckets, filled to the brim and sloshing at every step.

Back in the clinic, he set to work on the empty cots, removed sheets that needed cleaning and began to scrub off blood and mud. The task was time-consuming, yet simple, giving his hands something to do and his mind ample possibility to wander, and to watch the way Anders treated his patients with calm, gentle efficiency. And possibly, to watch a bit more intently when he bent over his patient to reach for something on the other side of the cot…

Three more patients, he decided, then he would tell Anders it was time to take a break. Just a break. A break was not interfering - the mage had to eat. And he did look as though he could also use a little cuddling. Not much else, Fenris assumed, he seemed too exhausted even for kisses. He would see to it that he got some rest. Anders could hardly blame him for that, considering he had fussed over Fenris’ safety just a few nights ago.

 

 

As they had shared the pie Anders had brought, the mage’s eyes had been incessantly darting across the room. When Fenris had finally asked if there was anything bothering him he had replied, biting his lip, “No, I’m just...trying to map the room. I’ve been thinking, perhaps I should install wards in your house. Just a few, in strategic places. Xenon’s library gave me the idea… I could make it so they’d be attuned to you, and a handful of select other people, but if anyone else crossed them, the wards would be set off, sound an alarm and keep the intruder trapped in a glyph. They’d be no use in my clinic, with all the patients walking around, but for your mansion…you’d be warned immediately if someone came for you…” He swallowed visibly. “And I’d know you’re safe…. If you’re comfortable with that. You can tell me if you’re not. I’d understand if having permanent magic in your home was too much.”

Fenris was indeed not entirely certain how he felt about that particular detail, yet to never have to worry about someone sneaking up on him in his sleep again… “I…like the idea. I will think on it.”

“Good. Because the thought of someone hurting you…I know that bastard is dead, but still…”

It was then that Fenris decided to give Anders the earring right away, in the hope it would cheer him up. He looked so distraught it was hard to bear.

Seeing the mage’s reaction, he feared his gift had only made things worse. Anders blanched, stared and stammered, and there was a suspicious increase in blinking. When he noticed the wet sheen in his eyes, Fenris started to panic, but Anders was quick to assure him, a little breathlessly, “Those are happy tears. I love it.”

“And yet you seem sad.”

“I’m not. Really. Just…overwhelmed. This is the second time someone has given me an earring. The first one was a gift from someone who… took a chance on me. Someone who wasn’t a mage but still accepted me for who I was. It meant a lot to me, and I…I never would have dreamed I’d one day get one that means even more. A gift of belonging. From someone who’s _mine_. Who _knows_ me, knows what I am…and still chose me.” He wiped his eyes and threw Fenris a lopsided grin. “And of course, it’s also shiny and sparkly. And a cat! With eyes like yours. My own little Fen-cat.”

“Please tell me you are not going to call me that.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to, but given that it makes you frown so adorably, I just might….Or would you prefer Cat-ris?”

Fenris decided another distraction was in order. Immediately. 

“I thought you could use this. To replace the bandages that hold your boot together.” He handed Anders a string of leather. “I have to replace the foot straps on my leggings quite frequently,” he explained. “I sewed the old ones together. It should be long enough.” 

The mage bent down wordlessly and removed the bandages, yet instead of discarding them, he tore off a piece and tied it around Fenris’ wrist. Once it was firmly in place, he proceeded to pick up the leather strap and wrap it around his boot. He still hadn’t said a word by the time he grabbed Fenris’ neck and pulled him close. He didn’t need to; the look in his eyes told Fenris everything he needed know, and he made sure to pour his reply into the deep kiss they shared.

When they finally parted, foreheads resting against each other, Anders quietly said, “I brought a gift for you as well. It’s not jewellery, though; I thought this might be more congruent with your style…” He reached into his pocket and handed Fenris a small crest, about the size of the pouches on his belt. The emblem, a shape roughly resembling a dragon, comprising only a handful of wavy, red lines, was vaguely familiar, although Fenris couldn’t put his finger on where he had seen it. He had no idea why Anders was giving it to him, and his confusion seemed to show, for Anders began to explain, “It’s the Kirkwall crest…well, one of them. This one is old, from the time when the city was still part of Tevinter, and a centre of their slave trade. This image was a symbol of rebellion…a successful one. The slaves rose up and defeated the magisters. You know they also call Kirkwall the ‘City of chains’ and well, just like those rebels you have…broken yours. But…” his hands began to twitch, “…it’s not only associated with the slave rebellion, it’s also used by current ones…including the mage underground, so I understand if you don’t…”

“I like it,” Fenris gently interrupted the mage’s stammering.

“You do?” He would never tire of the way Anders’ face lit up when his fears had been proven wrong. Never.

“Yes. I may not agree with freedom for mages, but I like that it stands for both of us breaking our chains. And the place where we found each other.” He smiled wryly. “Just tell me, am I going to be arrested for wearing it?”

“Of course not, I kind of prefer you not being locked up in places I can’t get into. Makes it easier to do things like this…” Anders leaned in to press a quick kiss to Fenris’ lips. “They’d have to arrest half the city if they wanted to make it an offence. It pops up everywhere these days. There’s even one in the Hanged Man.” Of course. That was where he had seen it. And in the Alienage, too. So many times it had become something he no longer noticed. “It’s not illegal, just a way to say we’ve had enough, things have to change…I thought that was a message you could get behind, at least the parts of it not relating to mages. I wanted you to have something to remind you of me. Peasant that I am, I don’t have a family crest so I thought, well…if rebellion doesn’t do the trick…” He winked. “Although I guess I should warn you that wearing it _might_ give mages the impression that you support them…”

Fenris sighed. “I assume seeing me at your side will give them that impression regardless of my attire. Let them believe what they wish…So long as they do not approach me.”

Fenris had attached Anders’ gift to his belt right away. As expected, the Captain of the guard had frowned when she had seen it during Wicked Grace, yet, for some reason, she had refrained from commenting on it. Anders had left about an hour after he had given it to him, cutting short their time in front of the fireplace, but he had kept his promise to take him on a date the following evening - to a wine tasting. Fenris, who hadn't even known such a thing existed, had been giddy with delight. Although, being well aware of Justice’s objections to alcohol consumption, he had also expressed surprise at Anders’ choice of event.

“He’s probably more bothered by the general ‘frivolity” of going out than by me sampling a wine or two. I’ll sit out the rest. It all tastes pretty much the same to me, anyway,” the mage had admitted with a shrug, “just different levels of sour grape goo. But I thought you might find a new favourite. And there's food being served afterwards, so I’ll just make up for my lack of wine consumption by eating twice as much as anyone else.”

His onslaught on the poor, defenceless buffet had indeed been utterly without mercy. Which reminded Fenris…

“Time to take a break, mage.”

Anders didn’t even look up from his patient. “I’m fine; there’s no need to worry. I can keep going.”

Fenris walked over to him and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “I know you can. Yet you do not have to. You have healed the grave injuries. Everyone else can wait outside for an hour, or come back later. This is not too much to ask of them. You will be more efficient when you are rested.”

“I…”

“Did I mention I brought food?”

“…you know me too well. That should probably worry me more than it does.”

“If you wish to worry, do it while you are resting. Now finish healing your patient. I shall tell the others to come back in two hours.”

“What happened to one hour?”

“It desired company.”

 

 

They settled on one of the freshly-scrubbed cots, their meal laid out between them. Fenris left the larger share for Anders. He wasn’t particularly hungry, whereas the mage clearly needed any source of energy he could get. Despite his claims to the contrary, he looked worn and pale, like hadn’t slept in days. Which was why once they were finished, Fenris lay back on the cot and pulled Anders down next to him, tucking the mage’s head under his chin so he could pet his hair and wrapping his other arm snugly around his waist.

“Stop glancing at the door. It will be a while before your patients return.”

“Force of habit, sorry,” Anders mumbled against his skin. His body was slowly starting to grow lax in Fenris’ arms. “Don’t let me fall asleep. I have to get back up again so soon, it’d only make me feel even more rotten.”

“Speaking of sleep: You look exhausted. Has Justice kept you up on your manifesto again? Do I need to remind him of our agreement?”

Anders disentangled himself far enough from Fenris’ embrace so he could look at him. He shook his head. “No, actually, this one’s my own doing… I haven’t been working on my manifesto. That’s why I can’t go out tonight, I need to finally get back to it.” He stroked his thumb across the creases that had formed on Fenris’ forehead. “Don’t worry, not the whole night. I promise.”

“What have you been doing the last two nights, then?” He wished the words hadn’t come out quite so harshly. Whatever bitterness had taken hold of him, he didn’t want to take it out on Anders, didn’t want to be the reason for the guilty look that flashed across the mage’s face. Too late for that. “I did not mean to accuse. I am merely…worried.” He stroked a hand across the crest on his belt. “Rebellion is a dangerous endeavour.”

Anders put his hand atop his. “I’ve been researching, actually. You know Xenon said I could come back twice and well, I did. I spent the nights there as well; there was so much information to go through.”

“Oh.” Fenris blinked. He hadn’t expected that. Although considering the enthusiasm the mage had shown during their date, perhaps it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. “Did you find anything useful?”

The mage nodded, but his smile didn’t touch his eyes. “Yes. I found so many new healing spells and recipes for potions it’s going to take me years to learn to properly master them all. And that’s just what I found in passing; it would probably be twice as much if I had been actively looking for them…” He hesitated. “As for what I was looking for…I may have finally found that, too. I made you a promise to search for a cure months ago, but I couldn’t find anything on lyrium markings anywhere…”

“Your research was…for me?”

“I did look for things that could help with my…situation too, but yes, most of it was for you. You’re in pain, Fenris. I can see how you tense up sometimes, and what it costs you to use your abilities. I won’t let you suffer if there’s even the smallest chance I can help. So finding a cure for your pain took priority over hoping for a miracle for me…Although as it turns out, the solutionis connected to me anyway.” Anders let out an acid little huff. “The ritual that bastard who doesn’t deserve anyone using his name put you through… It wasn’t quite as rare in the old days, and it consisted of two parts. In the first part, the subject would…merge with a spirit, which would then assume control over the body during the ritual, so the host wouldn’t have to endure the pain. The spirit could also deal with any accidental overdose or misapplication of lyrium, thus making the process much safer. And it would have continued to help manage the brands _after_ the ritual, by communicating with the lyrium, absorbing parts of it…”

Fenris cut in, eyes wide, “Mage, I do not mean to offend, but I do not want to…”

“No, of course not, I would never suggest that.” Anders gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “That’s where I come in. Or rather, Justice. He might be able to help you. See, I’m not sure, even after all I’ve read down there I still can’t claim to even begin to understand the stuff, but I think lyrium is a…alive. And even when you use it, you don’t actually ‘consume’ it; it can sort of…replenish itself. That’s probably why the lyrium potions we drink are so heavily diluted, and why they go to a place in our body they can, uhm, leave again…But in your brands, it’s just sitting there with nowhere to go, and while using your abilities exhausts _you_ , it doesn’t really do much to the lyrium. Being partly in the fade is its natural state, not something it has to work for. So it has been building up energy for years now.” He heaved a sigh. “Don't you dare tell Hawke I used this comparison, but it's like a mabari that is constantly bouncing and ready to strike without ever being set loose…and you have that slobbering, flaring beast right under your skin. Does that make sense?”

Fenris nodded. He had understood both the words and their meaning perfectly. What he didn’t understand, however, was how that disturbing revelation was supposed to help him. He had nightmares enough without imagining a living… _thing_ embedded in his flesh. “Yes. Yet I could have done without that knowledge. It is unsettling.”

Anders winced. “I’m sorry. Maybe I should have left out the specifics. I just wanted you to have all the information, before you made a decision.”

“A decision?”

“Yes, whether you want to let Justice try to help. While it’s not explicitly stated in the texts, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t need to be merged with you to absorb some of the excess energy. He should still be able to communicate with your lyrium, to…calm it. Your abilities would remain intact, although the markings might look a little duller, for a while. But there should be less pain. None, maybe. _If_ you agree to it. Justice would have to repeat the procedure at regular intervals, every few weeks probably, and he won’t be able to do it unless I let him take control of my body. I know his presence upsets you, so it’s entirely up to you.”

Fenris didn’t know what to say. Anders pressed a kiss on his forehead and gave him a soft smile. “You don’t have to decide right now. Take your time to think about it. I won’t mention it again unless you do. If it makes you too uncomfortable, this is the end of it.”

“Uncomfortable” was by far too mild a term for the thought of the spirit being near him, _touching_ him, talking to the _lyrium_. Yet it was also far too mild a term for the pain he had to endure almost every day. And Anders was willing to cede control to Justice to help him, although being powerless like this scared him more than anything else, even more than Templars. Fenris wouldn’t shy away from this gift like a coward. As long as…

“Is there any risk the process could harm you?”

“No. Your skin protects me from coming into direct contact with the lyrium, and its energy wouldn’t do any more damage than perhaps making me a little dizzy, even if Justice couldn’t contain it. I can’t guarantee it would be completely painless for you, though.” 

“And Justice is willing to do this?”

“Yes. He knows what was done to you was wrong. And honestly…he doesn’t need that much convincing when there’s lyrium involved. But he won’t do it unless you give him permission.”

“Then, I would like to try.”

Anders’ eyes lit up. “Thank you. I know this decision can’t be easy for you.” He let his head rest against Fenris shoulder. “Just tell me when you’re ready. There’s no hurry.” A sad little smile flitted across his lips. “Justice isn’t going anywhere.”

Fenris burrowed into the mage’s side with a sigh. He didn’t want to upset him, so he kept his question purposefully vague. “Did you find anything else during your research?”

“Nothing conclusive, but…many of the texts contained references to spirit possession. Apparently it used to be quite common; some tribes actually considered it something worth striving for…” The mage’s whisper was one of pained intensity. “Fenris, those that were possessed, they didn’t turn into monsters or abominations, didn’t become twisted. It says they became “one but separate”, “a whole of parts, equal yet distinct”. I think that means they…benefitted each other, without losing their individual essences. I found a few anecdotes and exercises. No actual spells or potions, though, and it’s only glimpses, not the whole picture. But it looks like it…doesn’t have to be a curse. Or the end.”

“That is good,” Fenris said softly.

They fell silent, just lying against each other, eyes closed and limbs intertwined.

“You haven’t asked the question.” Anders’ voice dropped into the space between them after several minutes had gone by.

_What question?_ No. He would not play a game of pretend. “It is not my place.”

Anders cradled his cheek in his hand. “Thank you. But with what we…are to each other, it does concern you as well. You have a right to know. So: yes, from what I’ve read, there are ways to reverse it. Ways that _don’t_ involve death. But I don’t know which… I couldn’t find anything specific. I wouldn’t do it unless I could be sure it was safe.”

“Is that even something you want?”

“I can say with certainty that I want it. And I can say with equal certainty that I don’t.” He rubbed a hand across his face. “I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t make sense.”

Fenris nodded thoughtfully. “He changed you. It scares you, and it hurts, so you want it gone. But it is also a part of who you are now. It would feel dishonest to erase that. Just as painful, merely in another way.”

Anders stared at him. “How…how do you…?”

He let his markings flare in response. “I have something like that myself.”

“Yes. Yes, you do. And Maker, I hope what I found will work.”

“What about you? Are your findings going to be of use?”

“Well…it’s a start. I’ll have to figure the details out myself. It’s going to be a long road, but…if Justice and I could actually find a way…it would be worth it.”

He nodded. “I understand. It is not a decision that can be made now. And it is yours alone to make. I remain at your side, whatever your choice.” He stroked his finger across the bandage around his wrist. He had nicked one of the mage’s feather and stuck it inside. It wasn’t the most secure place, but if it fell out during a fight, he would simply replace it. Anders wasn’t exactly short on feathers. He lifted his gaze back up to him. “As for the choice I made, there is no point in delaying. Do it now, mage…Justice.” He hesitated. “Or will it exhaust you even more?”

“No. I won’t be the one ‘doing’ it after all…I’m not sure how this is going to play out exactly, I’ve never actually _given_ him control before. It might not work, but if he does make an appearance, please don’t be alarmed. He won’t harm you. And I _will_ be back.”

Anders closed his eyes and took Fenris’ hands in his. For a long moment, nothing happened, then gradually, Justice’s presence became visible. It was hard to remain still when the cracks appeared in Anders’s skin, the same eerie blue that marred Fenris’ own tearing through freckles and soft hair. The mage had assured him that the process didn’t cause him physical pain, it was merely discomforting to feel his mind and body slip away from him, but that didn’t change the fact that it _looked_ painful. Yet there was a good chance that excessive movement might distract the spirit, disrupt the flow of whatever it was it was doing, and then Anders would have put himself through this for nothing. So Fenris gritted his teeth. And waited.

At last, Anders opened his eyes. No, not Anders. They flared an icy blue. Fenris only just managed to suppress a shudder as they regarded him impassively.

“I…appreciate this, Spirit.” He forced out the words, reminding himself that Justice was a part of what made Anders who he was. And the creature was helping him. It deserved gratitude.

He prepared himself for Justice’s booming reply, yet when it spoke its voice was almost…soft. Softer than anything he had ever witnessed when the spirit had taken over. “The mutilation you suffered is an injustice. The fade should not be forced into a mortal body.”

The words were out before Fenris even noticed. “And yet you are in Anders’.”

“I am a creature of the fade, not the fade itself.” The blue in the mage’s eyes flared brighter. “And I was invited. I DID NOT FORCE HIM.”

“That is true. I apologise.” While it had indeed been invited in, the spirit _had_ forcibly taken control on more than one occasion since then. Fenris decided that was an argument for another time.

There was no reply, but Justice’s eyes dulled, allowing hints of Anders’ amber to shine through. Suddenly, Fenris felt a strange pull, like a draft tickling along the skin of his arms.

“Your lyrium is answering my call. The sound of the fade...”

It fell silent again. Several minutes passed. The pull grew stronger, and slowly extended throughout the rest of Fenris’ body.

“We are in agreement. I shall begin to take what neither of you can handle, now. I am not familiar with mortal bodies, but Anders is urging me to remind you there is a possibility of pain. You must let me know if it exceeds what you mortals can bear.”

Fenris nodded. So far, it only felt weird, not painful.

He could tell when the Spirit began to…take. The sensation was overwhelming. It did not hurt, however, if anything it was…pleasant. Not in the way Anders’ touch was, it was the bed after a long fight, the chamber pot after waking up, the slice of bread after days of going hungry, and it flooded every single part of him at once.

When it ended, his body felt like a stranger’s. And was yet more his own than it had ever been, no pain holding its leash. He had no words to express the joy that filled him, only tears of relief leaving trails on his cheeks, and he would have been prepared to kiss the spirit for gratitude. Both of them were spared this, though, due to the fact that the one who blinked at him with an expression of absolute wonder on his face was no longer Justice, but Anders.

“I can hear it,” the mage whispered, wide-eyed. “I can hear it sing. Hear… _you_ sing. It’s so beautiful. Just like you.”

It took Fenris several minutes to regain enough clarity to process what Anders had told him. And even when he finally had, he wasn’t certain what to make of it.

“You can…hear what Justice hears? How?”

“Yes.. I’m not sure, perhaps it’s a side-effect? I doubt it’s going to last.”

“Does it not bother you? To hear a constant noise?”

Anders cradled his face in his palm. “It’s not _noise_ , Fenris. It’s a…melody. Soft, and sad, full of life…and you. And it’s in the background, not loud enough to drown out your voice, or anything…”

_Voice._ There had been something about a voice… “Justice sounded different.”

“So I didn’t imagine that…”

“No. And he did not yell. He spoke softly.”

Anders nodded slowly. “It sounded different to me as well. And…I actually witnessed everything. I didn’t lose time, or memories. It has never been like that before. But then, I never really let him take control _willingly_ ; he took over when I got carried away by my anger. This time, I just gave myself over. And he didn’t seize my mind so much as…float into it. I can’t really explain.”

“It sounds as though there is some truth in the books you found. Perhaps it is possible to coexist.”

“Or maybe giving in just means I’ll lose myself completely.”

“Perhaps it is merely a matter of learning when to give in, and how far.”

Anders mumbled something that sounded vaguely like agreement. He seemed distracted, lost in thoughts and worry, and Fenris didn’t press further. Instead, he gently drew him back into his arms, stroking his hands through his hair. The mage’s head nuzzled into his shoulder – and shot back up less than a minute later.

“Maker, how could I forget to ask – how are you feeling?”

Fenris couldn’t help but smile at the panicked expression on his face. “There is no pain.”

“None?”

“None. And no tension. We shall have to see for how long. But for now it feels…liberating. Thank you, Anders. And…thank you, Justice.”

Worry made way for a radiant smile. “I’m not sure he can hear you at the moment. He seems…preoccupied. But I’m sure he appreciates it. So it really worked… Tell me when the pain comes back, alright?”

Fenris nodded. “I will.”

“Good. I don’t want you to suffer needlessly. Never again.” He snuggled back into him, murmuring against his skin, “Fenris? Thank you for allowing us to try. For…trusting me. I know it was a lot to ask for.”

Fenris swallowed around the lump in is throat. “I am the one who has to thank you. You sacrificed your nights to find a cure for me.” He sighed. “And now I have selfishly kept you from resting.”

Anders’ snort tickled against his ear. “You were the one who convinced me to take a break in the first place. And I _am_ resting now, Fen-cat.” The mage lifted his head to look at Fenris, his mouth stretched into a cheeky grin. “Although, if you wanted to properly express your gratitude, I wouldn’t say no to some intense snogging…”

Fenris felt his lips curl upwards. He liked this idea. A lot. More than was wise, probably. “Are you certain you do not need to rest?”

“Oh, I have no doubt it will be very…uplifting….” Anders replied, right before he closed his lips around Fenris’.

 

After not nearly enough kisses, there was a timid knock on the door - which Anders didn’t seem to have heard, and which Fenris chose to ignore in favour of a few more minutes in the mage’s arms. But soon enough, one knock became many, and timid was abandoned for forceful, so Fenris gave Anders one final kiss before he let him return to his patients, and set to work on cleaning the remaining cots. 


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that hiatus was longer than I had anticipated…It was a bit of a struggle to get back into this story after the lyriumchristmas prompts, BUT there will be two new chapters this week, since this one turned into an 11000 words monster that I needed to cut in half. The second part still needs some editing, but should be up in a few days.

A familiar, loud and impatient knock on the door. Instantly, Fenris’ head shot up, his book forgotten and his lips curving into a smile.

_Anders._

He hadn’t exactly been expecting him, but he had been hoping he might show up. The mage had asked for a few days for himself, to focus on his clinic and manifesto, and after a week filled with four more dates, plus a night of Wicked Grace with their friends, Fenris hadn’t been able to deny him. In fact, he had insisted that Anders take as much time as he needed, since Fenris could hardly expect Justice to stick to their agreement and respect Anders’ mortal limits if he did not keep his own end of the bargain.

The last time the spirit had…made an appearance, it had been calm. Reasonable, even. Moreover, it had given Fenris a gift more precious than anything he had ever dreamt of having. Well, except for Anders’…love. The only thing more precious than that was his freedom, and that had not been a gift; Fenris had fought for it, killed for it, suffered for it.

The spirit, and Anders, hadn’t asked for anything in return for what they had given him: A body that wasn’t relentlessly forcing itself into his awareness, the feeling of a blanket against his skin just that – a blanket against his skin. Nothing else, no prickling, no dim, underlying ache or constant throbbing in his markings. No tension, no agonizing punishment for using his abilities. The last chain had been broken; pain was no longer yanking his leash. He was free. Regardless of how hard it was to trust the spirit – it was owed gratitude. And…respect. So long as Anders didn’t have to suffer for it, Fenris would give it both.

He couldn’t claim he hadn’t been itching to go check on them, but he had resisted the urge and used the time to make preparations for their next date, catch up with his other friends and practice his reading instead. He tried to be patient, reminding himself that Anders had said he would come see him as soon as he could.

And now, after not quite five days, the mage had at last found his way back to him.

Feet moving in a dance of joy, Fenris as good as flew down the stairs, tore open the door and flung himself into the mage’s arms.

“Hel….umpf…” He could feel Anders’ startled gasp turning into a smile against his skin. “I’ve missed you too, Fenris.”

“I assure you, I have missed you more.”

A soft chuckle. “Seems our friends were right – we have found something to fight over. I am _clearly_ the one who missed you more.”

“There is only one way to settle this,” Fenris said gravely, pulling back so he could meet the mage’s eyes. He looked…well. A bit tired, perhaps, but nothing like the bleary-eyed, hollowed-out exhaustion Justice had so often driven him to before. It seemed Fenris’ trust had been rewarded. He fought back a smile. “The first one to break the kiss loses.”

“Sounds like a bet to me. So…what does the winner get?”

“Another kiss.”

 

A few breathtaking minutes later, they finally made it inside the house. Anders handed Fenris the basket he had brought with him and sent him upstairs to prepare their usual picnic place with a little smack to his rear before he disappeared down the hallway towards the kitchen.

By the time the mage returned with their tea, Fenris had piled several blankets and pillows on the floor in front of the fireplace and had settled himself comfortably on top of them. He was impatient for Anders to join him, but the mage moved at a leisurely pace (Fenris highly suspected he was teasing him), carrying over the teapot and mugs, two forks and the basket one piece at a time. He then proceeded to lay out the basket’s contents, a loaf of bread, a cake, and some cheese, just as meticulously, erasing any last doubt as to whether he was doing it on purpose Fenris might have had.

“No extravagant meal tonight?” Fenris asked with a pointedly raised eyebrow. If the mage could tease, so could he.

Anders met his eyes with a warm smile. “No, I thought we’d keep it simple today. Don’t get me wrong…I love all the amazing things you’ve come up with for me; I love them so much. But I wanted to remind you, in the end, all I really need to have a good time is _you_.”

And just like that, Fenris didn’t feel like teasing anymore.

He raised himself on his elbows, wordlessly crawled over to where the mage was kneeling and claimed his mouth with a kiss.

The mage smiled against his lips. “Come to collect your winnings?”

 

When they were finally ready to eat, enough time had passed so that Anders had to use a quick spell to re-heat their tea. That done, he propped himself up against a few pillows, legs spread wide enough for Fenris to sit in between them, and they finished their meal in comfortable silence.

The mage against his back, the fire in front of him, Fenris was enveloped in warmth and safety, the _home_ that was Anders’ presence. He closed his eyes and snuggled into him, smiling when he felt the mage’s fingers caressing his cheek.

“It’s only a faint hum now, but I can still just about make out your…song.”

“So it is fading?”

“Yes. Are the…effects fading too?”

“No” Fenris shook his head, as much as he could without having to lift it, “the pain has not come back.”

“I’m glad to hear that…but you have to tell me if it does, so we can repeat the process right away. There’s no need for you to suffer if…”

Fenris reached for the mage’s hand, intertwining their fingers. “If it does, you will be the first to know.

“So…that’s a promise?”

He smiled, even though he knew Anders could not see it. “Yes.”

They fell quiet again, just resting against each other, Fenris caressing the back of Anders’ hand while the mage kept planting soft, fleeting kisses on the top of his head…and then, down his neck, all the way to the exposed part of his shoulder. There was no urgency to them yet, but Fenris doubted they would spend all night sitting like this. The thought made parts of him stir in anticipation – and others clench, painfully, knowing that all too soon after, his bed would be empty again.

“Mage,” he said, not quite in a whisper but softly, choosing his words with care. “You…this…is all I need as well. But…I do miss you. Every…night.”

“I miss you too,” Anders said, lips brushing over Fenris’ skin. “So…I take it you wouldn't mind if I stayed?”

“I...do not wish to make you feel like you have to.”

“I know. And that's not what's happening here. I _want_ to stay.” The mage pressed another kiss on the back of his neck. ”I think we're ready. Perhaps just the odd night here and there, for now, but…. I want to finally sleep with you next to me, in my arms. And of course,” he added with, Fenris was certain even though he couldn't see it, a little wink, “I also want to...sleep with you.”

“I...am fine with…both options,” Fenris said, his voice a little more croaky than he would have wished. He was very, very fine with it indeed. “If you are ready…”

“I am if you are. I’d say we have waited long enough…And I have been missing you so much these last days. Of course, it's good to see you at night, on our dates or in the Hanged Man but...it’s not the same as waking up next to you.”

Fenris nodded, snuggling back into the mage. He had been longing to wake up in Anders' arms again as well, ever since that one night they had spent together

“So you will stay.” It was a question as much as a statement. He had to hear the mage say it again, had to make certain that he was as happy with the thought as Fenris was.

“I will stay,” Anders said, a smile in his voice as he pressed a kiss on the top of Fenris’ head. “It's still a few hours until bedtime though. Or well, my bedtime at least…. Is there anything you want to do? We could go for a walk, or join the others for a drink…”

“Do you wish to do either of these things?”

“No,” the mage chuckled. “Absolutely not, in fact. I want to stay here, with you, and never get up again. But...that might get in the way of the ‘sleeping’ part. So, if we’re staying here…what do you normally do when you’re not with me or out with Hawke?”

Fenris decided to ignore the slight sharpness with which Anders had said the name, reminding himself that it was going to take time for things to, as Aveline had said, “smooth over”. He could hardly blame the mage; he still felt uncomfortable around Hawke more often than not himself. And there had been some progress, at least. While Anders had once more made a point of not talking to Hawke at their last game of Wicked Grace, he _had_ cut back slightly on the glaring.

“I...read. Or try to. Practice my writing. Or...try to, “he added with a wry smile. “Sometimes, I clean my clothes, or my sword. Or I drink a glass of wine and...think.”

“Don't you mean a bottle?” Anders chuckled into his hair.

“I rarely drink that much. It only seems a lot to you because your sp...Justice doesn't permit you any drinks at all.”

“Maybe you're right. Come to think of it...I don't think I’ve ever seen you drunk.”

“And you never shall. I do not like what it does to my senses.”

“Well, I had planned to use other ways to...affect your senses anyway,” Anders said with a soft bite to his neck.

Fenris found himself arching not away, but into the slight sting. “I am listening.”

"Oh, I'd rather _show_ you. But…later, if that is alright with you. I just...really like the thought of...being with you, for a bit. In your place, I mean.”

“So do I. I have thought of it often. Of you simply being here. Your presence in this room, even if you are doing something else.”

“You really want me here...” It was only a soft murmur against Fenris’ skin. “What book are you working on at the moment? We could read it to each other…Or we could just stay right here and talk for a while,” the mage continued at his usual volume.

“For now,” Fenris said, letting his body sink a little more toward the floor, turning halfway to the side and burrowing his head into Anders' chest, “let us stay here and talk. You can read to me later.”

“I can read to you? That sounds rather one-sided.” He could hear the mage's grin in his voice, and he replied with one of his own as he closed his eyes and buried his nose in the mage's shirt.

“Exactly. I am still learning. I have a few I cannot yet make it through on my own. You can read them to me.”

“Alright. Anything for you…” A hand was gently brushing through his hair. “But someday, you have to return the favour. Perhaps some Orlesian poetry? I'm sure it would sound lovely in your voice.”

“If you wish.”

“I...did not think that was going to work. You must really like me.”

“I am yours, mage.”

“And I am yours, Fenris.”

Anders’ hand kept caressing his hair as they fell silent for a while. His eyes closed, inhaling the mage’s scent, Fenris could almost have drifted away to sleep right there, even though the sun had barely set. It felt...peaceful to have Anders there, quietly at his side. And tonight, he would not leave it. Fenris didn’t have to dread the bittersweet moment of Goodbye as he had all those times before, even during the very first time Anders had joined him for dinner in this room. Their relationship had not even remotely been the same back then; he had not even been sure if he could call the mage a friend, and yet when the time had come for him to leave, Fenris had longed for him to stay. He had felt peaceful that night, too, he remembered…the mage's words, his laughter, his hair fiery and golden in the glow of the fireplace, and...

"Anders,” he said softly, “there was a...melody. The first time you came to visit me here. When I invited you to dinner because you had not eaten....”

“Yes, I remember that night. I couldn't believe you were actually going to let me into your house, at first. I mean, I was hoping you would, but a part of me was sure you'd kick me out at the first wrong word. And as we both know, I excel at spouting wrong words....”

“Things are different, now,” Fenris said firmly. “You choose the right ones, always, and you also did that night. Even if you had not, I would not have kicked you out. I had...begun to think of you as my friend. Perhaps” he admitted, recalling his blush at the mage's innuendos, the images he had seen during the stories of Anders' times in the brothels, “there were also…moments when I thought of you as...more than that. I am not certain.”

“I’m not sure when exactly it started for me either. But...I did feel something that night, maybe even before that, although I never would have dreamed I actually had a chance with you....” The mage’s voice trailed off for a moment. “Sorry, you had a question, didn’t you?”

“There was a melody. You were humming it when I returned from the kitchen. I do not know the song, but it was beautiful.”

“I think I remember that. Dimly.” Anders chuckled. “Sitting in the home of the guy I had a crush on, _singing_. Impressive as always.”

Fenris lifted his head. “A crush?”

“It was just a little thing...nothing at all like what came…later. What do you want from me, I already admitted I felt something that night,” Anders replied in a low mumble, the loveliest blush starting to form on his cheeks.

“A crush seems like a rather specific ‘something’.”

The mage’s eyes engaged in an intense study of the ceiling. “You know what, why don't we talk about something else...like, my embarrassing singing, for instance.”

Fenris couldn't help grinning. Perhaps because he hadn't even tried to fight it.

“You liked me.”

Blush growing, Anders rolled his eyes. “Maker, why am I even explaining myself to you? You are my _boyfriend_ now; I don’t see how this qualifies as a shocking revelation.”

“I am merely pleased to hear it,” Fenris said, grinning from ear to ear. He wasn’t certain when exactly he had started to fall for the mage, but it seemed whenever it had been…Anders had already felt the same for him. Fenris’ hopes had never been foolish.

“I'm sure you are,” Anders mumbled, his endearing blush joined by an even more endearing pout. “Anything else you wanted? Can we get back to the singing part now? Or do you want to discuss that time I farted in a quiet moment in the playhouse?”

“That was memorable indeed, but what I actually wanted to ask was...that melody.” Fenris hesitated, feeling slightly awkward as he continued, “Could you...sing it to me?”

“I...guess I can. But,” the mage raised his voice abruptly, “only if you admit that you liked me too!”

Fenris sighed. “I already told you, mage.”

“You only said you had ‘perhaps started to see me as more than a friend’. That won’t do, I’m sorry. I demand flowery declarations of affection.”

“I am yours, entirely, as I shall be until the day I die, and I had been yours for a long time, a lot longer than I realized myself, before I finally found the courage to tell you. Does that suffice?”

A gentle smile on his face, the mage bent down and placed a kiss on his nose. Instead of a reply, though, he started singing, low, almost timidly, the gentle, melancholic tune that had accompanied Fenris' path up the stairs and back to the mage all those months ago. Fenris let his head sink back down against Anders chest and listened as the mage’s voice grew louder, slowly gaining confidence.

“You have a beautiful voice, mage. It is as stunning as the rest of you,” was the last thing Fenris said before he closed his eyes and let the melody wrap itself around him like a blanket.

Of course, after several encores because Fenris simply could not get enough, Anders declared he wanted to hear Fenris "lovely voice" as well. Protesting that he did not know any songs only led to Anders proceeding to teach him the one he had been singing. As it turned out, Fenris needn’t have objected. He was not used to it, had never really done more than soft humming by himself, but he soon realized that once you got over the awkwardness, singing was rather enjoyable. And when they sung together, his own voice and the mage's mingling, caressing and dancing around each other like waves, glittering drops of sound filling the air, it became pure...joy, like a part of his soul leaping towards yet another kind of freedom. Looking down at his face with a smile, the mage offered to teach him more songs, and Fenris didn’t hesitate to agree

 

Joyful as it was, they decided it was time to call it a day when Fenris throat started to feel like it was wrapped in sand. They fetched water to make more tea and a little snack for the mage from the kitchen and then huddled together in an armchair with one of Fenris’ more difficult books. Snuggling into his side, Anders read to him slowly, his voice painting pictures in a way Fenris' eyes never did when they struggled through the words.

 When he stopped reading, claiming his voice was too strained from their singing, Anders suggested they play cards instead.

“Are there games for two?” Fenris asked.

“Yes, I can teach you. And hey, since you’re not familiar with the rules, I might even stand a chance against you.”

He did not.

“I swear, I used to be better at this,” the mage sighed as he lost yet another round. “I don't know what I was thinking. This is no fun at all.”

“I am not certain what you mean. I am enjoying myself greatly.”

“Well, good for you.” Anders sighed. “And lucky for me that we’re not playing for coin. I'd be completely broke by now, and would have to find other means of…payment.”

“Other means?”

“Well, you know...shedding some clothes. Or performing…a seductive dance...a full body massage....a nice little blowjob...things like that…”

Fenris nodded. He was blinking a bit more than usual but otherwise keeping his stoic face intact. “Next time, we shall play for coin.”

“Now that’s a surprising turn of events,” Anders said, a smug grin plastered all over his face. “But for tonight, I think I have lost enough of my dignity. If you win only one more round, I cannot guarantee I won’t set your cards on fire.”

“Then I suppose we should do something else.” He smiled at the mage, discreetly sweeping the cards off the table and into his pouch. “Perhaps we could...Do you want to take another bath?”

“Mmmm...a bath sounds good. Although it might be smarter to do that in the morning, you know. I have a feeling we might need some cleaning then…” Anders replied with a wink.

“Or you could take one tonight and another one tomorrow.”

“Isn't that a little excessive?”

“Since when does that stop you?”

“Touché.”

 

 

They went into the bathroom and filled the tub with water, which Anders subsequently heated. Fenris carried over a chair and sat down next to the tub, just like the last time the mage had taken a bath. There was, however, a lot more kissing and touching involved this time, as Fenris simply couldn't resist all that lovely skin calling for him from just below the surface.

“I have to admit, that’s a satisfying bath on many levels,” the mage grinned when Fenris finally gave him a moment to breathe. “If you keep this up, I might get dirtier than I was when I got in here, though.”

“Is that your way of telling me to stop?”

“No, that is my way of begging you to please, _please_ continue.”

“As you wish,” Fenris replied, the hint of a smirk on his face as he let his hand trail along the mage’s thigh.

“Oh, by Andraste’s bouncing bosoms, I do. Only if you want to, though, I…”

Fenris silenced him with a kiss, whispering against his lips, “As I told you, I like touching you...there.”

He liked it very much indeed, and being able to kiss Anders, to feel his hot breath against his lips, hear the soft moans his hand was coaxing out of him so close to his ear...it was worth leaning a bit awkwardly across the bathtub and straining his back.

“It’s official, that was by far the best bath I’ve ever had,” Anders declared when he, quite some time later, got out of the tub. “Do you want me to leave the room so you can take one too? Or if you’d like, I could stay and make sure your experience is….equally satisfying.”

Fenris wasn't sure if the mage would even need to touch him for that. The look he gave him was more than enough to set him on fire, and the tone of his voice...if he said a few more words, it might be over before he'd even get to use his...hand, Fenris suspected, given that he'd be in the water.

“Stay.”

He got a cheeky grin in reply. “As you wish.”

Fenris’ prediction as to which method was going to be applied had been wrong. As it turned out, the mage possessed many talents indeed. He climbed out of the tub on shaky legs, still staring at Anders in absolute awe, and was immediately greeted by the mage wrapping a towel and his arms tightly around him.

“I got you, Fenris,” he murmured as he began to slowly, very slowly and thoroughly, and oh- so-gently towel him dry. “Thank you for letting me stay. I know the bath is a difficult place for you…”

“It is fine, mage. With you, things are different.”

“I'm glad to hear that. Now...let's get you dry and into bed, shall we? Or perhaps, we should get you something to eat first.”

“Don't you mean get _you_ something to eat?” Fenris asked with a raised eyebrow, allowing a small smile to betray his amusement.

“I meant for both of us,” Anders said with a little smack to Fenris’ arse. “You’ll need the energy.”

 

 

After a modest meal of cheese and bread, they decided to call it a day for good and made their way over to Fenris’ bed.

“So…” Anders asked, a little sheepishly, “do you...have a preferred side? I mean, it's up against the wall, so one of us would have to get in first, I guess.”

“You are right; I should have thought of that. It is not practical for sharing a bed. Let me move it somewhere else. I am certain I can find a better place...”

The mage's arms wrapped themselves around him mid-sentence. “Shhh, Fen, I didn't mean it like that. I like the thought of crawling over you when I have to go...relieve myself at night, actually. And the thought of you having to crawl over me...not bad either. Not to mention that there’s always another exit at the foot of the bed. It's all good. This is your home; you don’t have to change it for me.”

“It may be, yet you are welcome here. Always. I want you to know that.”

A smile, a soft kiss to his temple and the mage's voice against his ear. "I do know that. And believe me, I intend to be here. Often. Now, let's go to bed. Which side do you prefer?"

“I have no preference.”

“Alright, then I’ll get in first.”

Fenris watched as the mage undressed to his smalls and slipped beneath the blanket, then quickly shed his leggings and tunic and climbed in after him, nestling into his chest and wrapping his arms around him with a sigh.

“Seems I finally have you in my bed.”

“Well, as I recall, you already pretty much... _had_ me _on_ your bed.”

“A treasured memory.” Fenris smirked beneath lids that were already growing heavier than he would have wished. “Yet not the same. Tonight, you will stay. And _I_ will...”

“Oh, I'm all ears, tell me all about what you are going to do to me,” Anders grinned against his ear. Which he was also nibbling on.

“In a moment. For now, I would like to just…hold you.”

“That sounds good too.” The mage fell quiet. When he continued, his voice sounded faraway. “I often find it hard to believe you are really in my arms, and now, you’ll be right next to me all night…and when I wake up. Well, perhaps one of us will be face down, drooling, half-sprawled on top of the other, but you know what I mean...we'll be together. With no one here to tear us apart or tell us we aren't allowed.... Who would have thought either of us would ever get that chance…”

Not Fenris, that much was certain. There were a lot of things he had thought would forever be out of his reach, and yet here he was, somehow having gotten all of them. Freedom, friends, something resembling a family, even if it was not the one he had once hoped for, a home, a future. _Anders_. He snuggled a bit more closely against him, pressing a kiss on his cheek.

“I am glad you stayed, mage.”

“So am I.”

They lay next to each other quietly, just feeling the other's presence. Anders’ hand was rubbing in soft circles across his back, and then...it rubbed a little lower than his back, a favour which Fenris returned more than willingly. As the mage began to kiss down his neck, Fenris nuzzled against his cheek and began to kiss his....he wasn't quite sure just what he had been kissing, for when he opened his eyes again...

 

It was morning.


	25. Chapter 25

Fenris shot up, blinking through sleep at the dimly-lit room. What was…

Venhedis, he had fallen asleep.

The first time Anders had agreed to stay over, they had been touching and the mage's hands had been doing really nice things and Fenris _had fallen asleep_. It was mortifying. And also...insulting. Anders would be so…no, Fenris realized, not angry. Strange as it was considering all those years they had spent arguing, Anders actually...never got angry.

Oh, he could rage and rant, certainly, when it came to mages and Templars and injustices. Yet towards him - and their other friends as well now that Fenris thought about it - the mage was never aggressive, hardly ever raised his voice. He had other ways of expressing his annoyance. When his feelings were hurt or his pride was wounded, he became cold and detached, pouted like a child or needled without mercy, but he hadn’t been like that towards _him_ since they had got together. Not since that last moment right before their first kiss, when Anders still believed Fenris had chosen Hawke over him.

_How could he think tha_ t? Fenris thought, looking down at the mage still sleeping peacefully next to him, curled up on his side, an arm draped over Fenris' waist - or well, it would have been his waist had Fenris not sat up so abruptly. How could this beautiful man ever have believed Fenris didn't want him? And after last night – would he believe it again?

Anders had been nothing but understanding; he would not start berating him now. He wouldn't be angry, wouldn't yell. Yet that didn't mean he wasn't hurt. Fenris had fallen asleep while Anders had been lavishing attention on him, in their first night together, after he had promised the mage a night he would never forget. Their first night was supposed to be special, and Fenris had been hoping Anders might be willing to…

He sighed, gently lowering himself back onto the pillow. Perhaps Anders would understand. Understand that Fenris had been…what, tired? He supposed he had been, but more importantly, he had felt...safe. Lying in the mage's arms, wrapped in warmth, Anders’ soothing presence where there was normally nothing but emptiness, his scent, the way he held him, firm yet never chaining, it had been so comfortable, Fenris hadn't really felt the need for more. He had enjoyed Anders' touch, of course, and the feeling of nearly all of his skin against his had been absolute bliss, but at the same time, he had longed to stay in that perfect moment for just a tiny bit longer.

He inched closer to the mage and placed his arms around his waist, careful not to wake him. It was just barely morning, and judging by the dark circles underneath his eyes, Anders needed every second of sleep he could get. His nose so close to his that they were almost touching, Fenris closed his eyes. There was no point in worrying about this now. Anders was here, at peace in his arms, and if the last night had made him feel undesired, Fenris would simply have to show him just how much he was wanted. And, he thought right before he dozed off again, that was actually something to look forward to.

 

When he awoke again, he was greeted by soft, twinkling amber eyes. This close to him, Fenris could see the crinkles around them, the hints of the furrows on the mage's forehead. It was hard to bear how beautiful he was, so alive and real and _his_.

“Good morning, sleepyelf.” Anders' voice carried a grin even though his expression remained even. “I trust you’re feeling rested?”

“Mage...I apologize for last night. I must have been...more tired than I thought. I did not mean to...”

“Fall asleep?” He cocked his head. “That's what people usually do in their beds, or so I have been told. Well, that and a few others things…”

“I...we...were about to get started on those...other thing,” Fenris mumbled miserably. “And I fell asleep. That was...inconsiderate.”

“Well, I don't know about you, but I tend to fall asleep without putting all that much consideration into it.” The mage placed a playful kiss on his nose. “There's nothing to apologize for. I mean, it's not like we were right in the middle of a hefty pounding. We were just making out a little...not even that, really. It's all good, Fenris. And let's not forget, we had a rather...intense bath before. No wonder you were...exhausted.”

“I was. But I also felt...safe. I did not wish to let go of that.”

Something flitted across the mage's face, something a little too close to alarm for Fenris' liking. “So…you don't feel safe when we...are intimate?”

“I do,” Fenris said, placing his hand on Anders' jaw and pulling his face towards him with a little more force than might have been strictly necessary. “I feel safe with you, with everything we do, always. And I did want more, last night. But I wanted...the other safety as well. To lie in your arms like that, at night, knowing you would not run off. That was a gift I wished to savour. Although,” he looked down at the blanket, flushing slightly, “I did not intend to savour it...all night. It was your first night in my bed. I wanted to...celebrate that.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, I squandered that chance.”

“Well, no, actually, you didn’t.” Anders let his hand slide down Fenris' side, waggling his fingers suggestively along his skin at a slow, teasing pace. “As long as at least one of us is still in your bed, the night isn’t officially over. So it’s rather fortunate that I  already paid my respects to your chamber pot, I’m in no hurry to get out of here.”

“You did?” Fenris asked, surprised that he had slept through the mage manoeuvring himself out of the bed. Normally, even the slightest movement in the room was enough to wake him. Years of always having to be on alert had made sure of that.

Anders gestured to the fireplace, a smug grin on his face. “Who did you think rekindled the fire so you could relieve yourself without catching a cold? I suggest you make use of that and then come right back to me…and show me just how exactly you had planned to...celebrate.”

Without further discussion, Fenris leapt out of bed and dashed towards his chamber pot. Or rather, to the one in his bathroom, as he had no particular desire to do this in front of Anders.

“I don't mind, you know,” the mage called after him.

“Noted. I, however, do.”

Anders’ chuckle accompanied him all the way to the bathroom.

He was still chuckling when Fenris re-joined him beneath the blanket, which Fenris decided warranted a prolonged kiss to silence him.

“Mmmm, right onto the celebration part, I see,” the mage grinned against his lips. “I can't say I'm complaining.”

Instead of a reply, he gave him another kiss. And then another. Anders’ tongue coiled itself around his as his hands began to roam all over Fenris’ body with noticeably more intensity than the night before.

“Did you desire me, last night?” He murmured between kisses. “Or were you too tired as well?”

“Oh, I wanted you. But you seemed ready to fall asleep the moment you stepped out of the bathtub. And like you said...holding you felt wonderful too. Especially after you had fallen asleep. You looked so peaceful and...about ten years younger.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

“Yes, that you are amazing, that I am yours, and that I really, really, really want you, right now. If that's alright with you, of course…”

“I…want you to,” Fenris mumbled, heat in his cheeks and...everywhere else. And he did; he wanted more of him. He wanted everything, in every way there was. Without further words, he leaned in and kissed him, so hungrily it was close to rough. “I finally have you in my bed. Let us make use of it.”

Anders smirked against his lips, and let his hands wander downwards. It was...exhilarating, all of his skin, or almost all of it, pressed against Anders' and now...his hands were tugging at the waistband of Fenris' smallclothes.

“Is that alright?”

Instead of a reply, Fenris reached out and pulled the mage's smalls down his thighs in one quick movement.

“It most certainly is.”

Anders copied the gesture with a grin, and drew Fenris into his arms. And into a kiss, and another, and more, and more, kisses and tongues and hands groping without thought until Fenris' mind was lost in a dizzy whirl of want. He couldn't have said where exactly on his body Anders' hand was, nor even really been sure which part of the mage's body he was touching. It didn't matter, all of them was one and close and hot and _good_. Though....not quite as "one" as Fenris longed for. He wanted more, to feel Anders inside him, to finally take that last step the mage had, for some reason, been so hesitant about.

It didn't seem like something he could say outright, however. He wasn't sure which words to use. How did one ask for something that had always been a command? He pulled the mage closer, which was made difficult by the fact that there wasn't really any distance left between them, and it was still not enough, not nearly enough, and started rubbing himself against him, urgently, his eyes seeking Anders' gaze in what he hoped was a questioning manner. Anders smiled at him and moved his hands, both of them, towards his arse - from different directions, it would seem, apparently, one had been on his thighs and one on his back, and squeezed, tightly, pushing Fenris flush against his hips.

“Mage,” Fenris panted, “this...this feels good, but...I would...if you wanted to, we could...”

A bite to his ear had him stop with a chocked out moan. A soft voice followed.

“I was hoping you'd like to, actually...Maker, you have no idea how badly I want you to fuck me.”

A surge of heat rose up inside him at the words, longing, confusion, fear, desire, _need_. He let out a breathless _yes_ wrapped in a moan.

“Do you still have the oil from the gift basket?”

Fenris nodded, a clumsy little movement, much like the way he crawled to the end of the bed and fumbled around on the floor with nervous fingers. It took him a few minutes to locate and pick it up, but when he finally handed it over, his fingers were at least no longer trembling quite so visibly.

Anders took the oil from him with a gentle kiss. “We can stop any time if you change your mind, Fenris. There are so many things we can do if you’re not comfortable with this….And for some of those, the oil would come in handy, too…” He added with a grin.

“I...will not change my mind. “I…” he blushed, fidgeting uncertainly, “want you. More than anything. I do not know why I am so nervous. I am not afraid.”

“We have been building up to this for quite some time now. It's not unusual to be a bit tense, even if it’s something you look forward to. New things tend to make people nervous.” He gave Fenris a soft smile. “I was so anxious when we went on our first ‘real’ date, you have no idea. We had been on countless dates as.....well, friends, I suppose, and it wasn’t our first day as a couple either. It shouldn't have been a big deal. But it _was_ my first date with my boyfriend. And now, it's the first time said boyfriend is going to give me that pounding I mentioned earlier. I'm nervous too. But also,” he adopted a sultry tone, “ _very_ much looking forward to it.”

Fenris didn't know how to respond; he was too distracted by the rather stirring effect the mage’s choice of words had had on him. And also by the implication that Anders meant for him to… He had mentioned something like that before, but Fenris hadn’t thought he really expected him to...right away.... He cleared his throat, but his reply was swallowed by a very thorough kiss from a very eager mage with a very.... flexible tongue. At the same time, Anders' hand set to work on bringing him to full attention. And just like that, Fenris forgot what he had wanted to say, too lost in the way Ander’s fingers stroked and teased and tugged, and the feeling of the mage’s tongue caressing his own in a rhythm that mirrored the movements of his hand almost perfectly.

Fenris tried to return the favour, but his mind was too far gone to coordinate, all he could do was cling to the mage's back. Eventually, Anders’ kisses turned sloppy. His hand ceased its ministrations and took hold of his shoulder, gently pulling Fenris with him as he lay down. Fenris went along, eyes blinking open as his head slowly began to clear.

The mage let go of him with one last, soft kiss. He grabbed a pillow and placed it underneath his rear, then picked up the bottle Fenris had placed on the blanket.

“Well, let’s get ready, shall we?” he breathed into his ear as he poured a generous amount of oil into his palm and spread it over Fenris’ cock. Having coated his fingers a second time, he closed the bottle and tossed it aside.

After he had unceremoniously slipped a finger inside his body, his hand suddenly stopped moving. “Or would you prefer to do that yourself?”

Fenris shook his head, staring at Anders fingers - for there were two of them now, sliding in and out of the mage’s arse in what looked like an effortless movement. The sight was mesmerizing. And intimidating. He wanted. He wanted so much. But the thought of hurting Anders…it was, he realized, almost worse than the thought of Anders hurting him.

“Enjoying the show?” At the mage's amused tone, he lifted his head, to see him smiling up at him, face flushed and hair tousled. He nodded, helplessly.

“Good. Because I'm enjoying the feeling. And the way you're looking at me….” He let out a low moan, throwing back his head as his fingers (while Fenris hadn't been looking, he had sneakily added a third one) picked up speed. His other hand grabbed hold of Fenris' neck and pulled him into a greedy, desperate kiss. “I want you so much. Please. Fuck me,” Anders rasped as his hand slid down to Fenris’ waist, guiding him between his legs, towards where his fingers where still busy opening himself. Fenris certainly shared his desire, but…

“Mage, I have not done it this way before. I do not wish to hurt you due to my lack of… experience.”

“Well, the only way to get experience is to...experience.” The mage winked at him as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Perhaps it was, for other people.

Yet somehow, Anders seemed to understand what Fenris was trying to tell him, seemed to realize that for him, it wasn’t. His fingers ceased their movements, and he reached out for him, pulled his face right above his and placed a soft kiss on his lips.

“Fenris, you _absolutely_ don’t have to if you don’t want it. But if you’re really just scared of hurting me, there’s no need to worry. I’ll guide you through it. And…I _am_ a healer – not that there’s going to be any need for that. You won’t harm me. Just keep looking at my face. You’ll know when you need to be careful. And trust me, I’ll tell you when I need you to go harder. _If_ you want it. We don't have to, not ever, if you’re not into it. We can switch, or we can just keep using our hands...mouths...skin. It’s entirely up to you.”

Fenris forced himself to meet his eyes. “It should be up to both of us.”

“It is. But I am comfortable with everything, so we'll decide according to your boundaries.”

The words brought a small smirk to his lips. “Everything?”

“Why,” Anders asked, mirroring his expression, “are you planning to put my boundaries to the test?”

“I do like a challenge…”

“Well, now I’m a little scared _and_ incredibly turned on. So how about we postpone this until you’re certain and use…other means to have fun…preferably right now.” He trailed his hand along Fenris’ cock at the words, seeking his lips with his own.

Fenris pulled back slightly. “Mage…I would like to try.”

“Are you sure? I didn’t mean to push…”

He stroked his thumb over the creases on the mage’s forehead. “You did not. It is my choice. And I want it. I want you.” Kissing away Anders’ inquiries, he smiled against his lips. “Show me how.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I will.” The mage gently cupped his face in his hands. “I'll be with you every step of the way. There's nothing to be afraid of.”

Anders’ hand moved between his legs again, finding and caressing his hardness, his eyes twinkling as Fenris moaned with an abandon that only weeks ago, he would have denied he was capable of.

“I’d say you’re ready.” Anders winked. Placing both hands on Fenris’ hips, he raised and spread his legs, and motioned for him to kneel between them.

Fenris followed the gentle tug of his hands, letting out a helpless little gasp at the heat of the mage’s skin against his own.

Apparently satisfied with their positions, Anders took Fenris’ hand in his and guided it to his cock, leaving both their hands wrapped around it for a moment before he removed his own with a gentle squeeze.

“I’m ready if you are.” He gave Fenris a wink, cushioned by a warm smile, and let his head sink a little more towards the pillow, but kept it held high enough so that he could still look at him.

“You won’t…lead the way?”

“I don’t think that's necessary. There's pretty much only one direction - and I want it to be at your own pace.” Anders let a hand trail down Fenris’ chest, that soft, soothing smile still on his lips. “Just go and have fun with it.”

Kneeling between Anders spread legs, Fenris felt uncertainty take hold of him again. He wasn't sure which approach would provide the best angle, and his memories weren’t at all helpful. More than anything, he wanted to sink into Anders' arms, to be held and safe, yet he didn't want to risk hurting him. The mage had positioned him like this, perhaps there was a reason for that. Hesitantly, he moved forwards and slowly began to… Slip, apparently. And slip again, fumbling around without a clue. Such a simple act, and he could not manage it.

The heat that flushed his cheeks was of an entirely different kind than the one that roared in his body.

“I…cannot seem to…”

He kept his gaze firmly locked on the mage’s chin, but he could hear the soft chuckle in Anders’ voice as his hand ruffled his hair. “I'm afraid you might have to push a little. I mean, I like to think of my body as welcoming, but it’s not quite….wait, here, let me make it a bit easier for you...”

Letting go of his hair, the mage used both his hands to spread his cheeks wide apart, exposing himself so completely Fenris was left with nothing but gaping desire. With a bit more force and Anders' encouraging smile to watch over him, Fenris made to enter him again….

He couldn’t decide which was more overwhelming, the sight or the feeling. The mage’s hole widening for him, swallowing his cock right in front of his eyes, the teasing heat nudging the tip, surrounding him more and more as he pushed into the body offered to him so willingly, _Anders_ ’ body around him.... He had to slow down, to watch and feel, to take it all in, for a moment.

He had dreamt of it, of course, wondered if it would be anything like Anders' mouth, or the tight grip of his hand, but this....this was something else entirely. He lifted his head to check in with Anders, but his eyes were half-shut, head thrown back, lips rounded in a slight _ooh_. The moan that that had filled the room when Fenris had begun to push in had faded, but the mage's mouth looked as though another one was about to escape at any moment. He didn't appear to be in pain, though, so Fenris felt confident to start moving again, slowly, carefully....and there it was, that low, fragile _ooh_ , a sigh, a moan, and a question all in one. A sound more beautiful than any he had ever heard. He kept pushing, keeping his eyes on the mage's face as instructed. The sight of his cock entering him was tempting, certainly, but Anders' expression…it beat everything else. At last, he was fully sheathed, as deep as he could go, and the sensation was beginning to overpower him, Anders around him, in front of him, the tension and wonder on his face, so much like when Fenris used his hands and yet...more so…the heat and the pressure and…

His grip slipped and he toppled over, yet he didn’t come down crushing the mage’s chest beneath his body; Anders’ hands were there, against his chest, his shoulder, steadying him.

“Shh, it’s alright.”

It took him a moment to find his voice, to look at the mage and ask, “Am I hurting you?”

“No, it feels wonderful. There’s no need to worry, you’re doing great.” Anders smiled, placing his hands on Fenris hips as he winked at him. “Trust me, if you hurt me, you'll know.”

Fenris nodded, and began to move, slowly pulling back just the tiniest bit, then snapping his hips forwards again. His movements were careful, timid, but the mage didn't urge him on, just looked at him with a dazed expression.

Fenris leaned a little over his body, trying to capture his lips in a kiss. Anders rose to meet him, a sloppy encounter of lips and tongue and slightly more teeth than usual, but it felt so good, everything felt so _good_ … He stared at Anders’ face as the mage lay back down, his hands gripping Fenris’ hips, fingers digging into his flesh, encouraging him to go faster.

“Yes, Fenris,” he moaned. “Yes, keep going.”

“You mean like this?” he asked with as much of a smirk as he could muster between his panting and his raspy, moaning sighs. He picked up pace, moving to sit back a little, as Anders suddenly cried out. There was a flush of cold panic at the thought of having hurt him, but almost immediately after, the mage moaned again.

“Yes! Right there, _yes_.”

“Right...there?” Fenris asked in confusion.

“Yes, like this…try....angling a bit…this way, you know, right there...there’s this…spot…it just feels amazing when it’s…touched at the right angle…you go right to the Maker’s side…”

“Is that a mage thing?”

“What? No.” Anders chuckled, flushed and breathless. “Although if it were, that would explain why people are so desperate to lock us away – bitter, all-consuming envy.”

Despite those words, his smile remained firmly in place, right up to the twinkle in his eyes. If Fenris was looking for a sign Anders was enjoying their...activities, he seemed to have found it. Yet there was still the matter of the frankly rather ludicrous claims he'd made prior to that.

“Does everyone have this…?”

“Well, in varying locations, but yes.” Panting slightly, he continued. “But perhaps…that angle you just used…you could do that again now…and we can save the detailed lessons in anatomy for later?”

Not a bad idea, Fenris had to admit. He couldn’t focus anyway, there was too much of everything, the heat of Anders’s body, the sounds...Venhedis, the sounds. Now that he was moving faster, he could hear their bodies...or rather, parts of his body...slapping. It shouldn’t have been so hot, they were just sounds, but Venhedis, it _was_. He tried to find the angle Anders had mentioned, and while he wasn't quite sure just where exactly this "spot" was supposed to be, he never had to wonder for long whether he had found it.... Anders' reaction was immediate, every time, his moans broken-off and desperate, driving Fenris to move even faster. He buried his hands in the mage’s hair and pulled – he hoped not too roughly - his face up to his own, slowing the movement of his hips as he kissed him. Anders grabbed his shoulders, and back, and gently pulled his chest against his, lifting and spreading his legs further so Fenris could sink in between.

“Here,” he whispered, “let me hold you. I want to feel your skin against mine when I come.” He smiled, one hand clinging to Fenris’ back, the other finding its way between their bodies. Fenris could feel it moving against his stomach, the mage taking himself in hand, rubbing and stroking in a rhythm that roughly matched Fenris’ thrusts. They moved together, Anders crossing his legs loosely behind his back. Fenris couldn't go quite so deep or fast like this, but he found ways to make Anders cry out regardless. Although he had to admit that by now, he was spurred on less by Anders’ reactions than by the desperate chase for his own release. He couldn't help it, it felt too good, so beyond all words, nothing but bliss and heat and Anders all his, in his arms, holding Fenris, keeping him safe even now, this too, something they did together. He closed his eyes as he began to thrust harder, everything forgotten but the need for more, more of this sweet, torturous friction, the mage's arms around him, fingers gripping as if his life depended on it. His name falling from Anders' lips, again and again, wrapped on both ends in hoarse, shameless moans This, this was a bliss he never would have thought he could ever reach.

It was over too soon, this endless build-up suddenly not endless anymore, a flash of white, a crushing wave of heat and a roar inside his mind, and then he collapsed on top of the mage, breathing heavily, dimly aware that between them, Anders hand was still moving. Was he supposed to keep moving too? Fenris wasn’t sure, but it didn't really matter, he couldn't have moved even if he had tried.

Before he could really start to worry about it, Anders called out his name again, his mouth so close to Fenris’ ear, spilling between their bodies, still clinging on to him. He went limp in his arms, letting his head fall back onto the pillow with a cry, soft and spent, as fragile as his _ooh_ , when Fenris had first pushed inside his body.

His body....Fenris was still inside it. And...he didn't really want to change that anytime soon. He didn't want to move or speak, all he wanted was to fall asleep right on top of him and never again leave his arms. By now, his head had cleared enough for him be aware that wasn’t an option, but he allowed himself one more minute to relax, to hold on to the feeling and catch his breath, before he lifted his head and caught Anders' gaze in his.

“Are you alright? Was it....as it should be?”

Anders kissed him, softly, lazily. “It was perfect, Fenris. And I'm not just saying that. You were amazing, and so was everything and…we were together.” He stroked a hand through his hair. “Was it good for you too? Well, actually, you're not supposed to ask that,” he added with a chuckle, “but you know me...I’m a rebel.”

“It was better than anything I could have dreamed,” Fenris sighed. He moved, even if it was reluctantly so, disentangled himself from the mage's arms and his body, and lay down next to him. Anders wrapped an arm around him and fumbled for the blanket, pulling it over both of them.

“Should we not clean up first?” Fenris asked, his head nestled into the crook of Anders' arm, too exhausted to really care.

“Well, we could, but I thought we said we were going to take another bath again today anyway,” Anders shrugged, “I wouldn't mind just not...moving until then. “

“I agree.”

They lay next to each other in silence, Fenris hand on the mage's chest, idly playing with the coarse hairs that the dotted it, and Anders' hand on his waist, rubbing soft patterns into his skin.

“It’s hard to believe we’ve only been awake for about an hour.” The mage stifled a yawn. “I wouldn't mind sleeping for the rest of the day. Although I _also_ wouldn't mind eating something…”

“Give me a few minutes,” Fenris mumbled against his skin, “and I shall get us something.”

“I'll go with you. I wouldn't let you face the cold of your hallway alone. But I agree...let's wait a few minutes….hours…days.”

“Hmm-hmm,” Fenris nodded. He was exhausted enough to slip back into sleep, yet the memories of what he had just experienced bound his consciousness to the moment. Anders...and he. The mage's face, the way he had screamed his name. Fenris had not hurt him. No, he had given him just as much as Anders had given him. Especially when... He lifted his head slightly. “Mage...this spot you mentioned….”

“Yes?” Anders asked, looking as lazy and content as a dozing cat.

“I...am not certain elves have that.”

“Oh yes, they do,” Anders said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll show you, I promise. You won’t believe how good it feels…I mean, if you want to,” he hastily added. “There’s no rush. Or any need at all, if you’d rather not…”

“I want it.” Although it was the truth, Fenris found it hard to look at Anders.

The mage placed a fleeting kiss on his forehead. “I know it might be hard to believe from where you’re coming from, but it's not supposed to feel like punishment...Quite the opposite, actually.”

“I know.” He did, in a conflicted, muddled way. There had often been pain. And sometimes, pleasure. Even if that word didn’t really seem to fit anymore thinking back on it, now that he knew what pleasure could, _should_ feel like, what it meant to share it, he wasn’t…unfamiliar with it. And with Anders, he’d never have to anxiously hope the mage would be in a gentle mood. All his moods were gentle.

He should probably explain this to Anders, he'd understand, or at least not judge, but…he did not want to. So instead, Fenris mumbled, staring at the blanket, “Danarius enjoyed it. He had slaves for…that. They were human. He said an elf’s place was…on the other end of the cock.”

For a moment, Anders’ face showed nothing but rage, and a hint of that deep, crystalline blue in his eyes. He cupped his cheek, and Fenris felt his heart phase through the mattress and crash onto the floor. The moment had been perfect. And now, he had ruined the mood.

“Mage, there is no need…” He swallowed, then added, firmly, “It no longer matters. I…wish to be more than my scars.”

Anders pulled his face towards his. “You are. You are so much more. They are not what defines you. And trust me, they are not what I see when I look at you.” The mage’s eyes bore into his, so full of affection, imploring Fenris to believe him. There was so much…too much; Fenris found it hard to breathe. “But…it doesn’t feel right to just pretend they don’t exist at all. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do things you’re not ready for. I’ll never cross any line you draw, Fenris, but for that to work…I need to know where the lines are.”

Fenris’ stomach clenched, painfully. He did not need pity. “You do realise it has been over ten years?”

Anders was silent for a long time. At last he said, absentmindedly stroking his thumb across Fenris’ cheek, “I know. But with all the memories you’ve lost...that is about half your life. It might not be as far away as it sounds.”

“I wish to leave it behind, mage.” It was a struggle to keep his hands from curling into fists, to not take the despair and anger welling up inside him out on Anders, to remind himself that the mage spoke out of concern, not control. “I want to be like everyone else.”

“There is no ‘everyone else’, Fenris. We all have our own experiences, our own needs…”

“And yet you would not hesitate with others as you do with me.”

Anders paused. “You’re right. Although maybe I _should_ have. Because sometimes people view things differently, don’t notice the signs, misinterpret things… I couldn’t bear it if I did something like that to you...”

“ _If_ you do, I will tell you. I do not know where my ‘lines’ are, not until they have been crossed. And I do not expect you to guess them in advance. All I ask is that you stop when I say _no_ , and then continue to respect that no.”

The mage’s eyes widened. “Of course I’ll do that, I'd never…”

“Then, we have no problem. Cease this constant worrying.” He took a deep breath. “You make me happy, mage. Let me make you happy as well, instead of,” he added, a wry smile stealing its way on his face, “incessantly concerned.”

The smile Anders gave him in return was uncertain, but it was there. “You…have a fair point. I should trust you to know what you want, and what’s best for you. How about this, I won’t bring it up again unless _you_ tell me you want to talk about it.”

“That is acceptable.” He sighed, letting his head sink back onto the mage’s chest. “You have thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

“Yes, of course I have. I mean, you were all I could think about anyway…and after what you told me on the balcony I needed a way to reconcile how desperately I wanted you with how desperately I didn’t want to hurt you. Of course, I wasn’t sure if you wanted me too, if your flirting was serious, but from the way you flirted…I thought you might not be…generally opposed to sex.”

“And what do you think now?” Fenris smirked up at him, fluttering his lashes.

“I think you are about as greedy and enthusiastic as I am. And you are…amazingly good at it…”

“As are you. And I am not opposed. Not in the least.” He placed a kiss on the mage’s chest. “I want more of you. I…want you all the time.”

“We might need to eat or sleep in between, but aside from that…I’m in. And speaking of eating…” Anders stretched his arms above his head with a groan. “We should probably get out of bed, appease the growling beasts in our bellies and get cleaned up.” He smiled at Fenris. “Do you want to bathe first, this time?”

“I...” Fenris cleared his throat “...was thinking perhaps we could...do it together?”

“Are you sure?” Anders asked with poorly-concealed excitement.

“Yes. I like the thought of you...holding me in the water. If we can both fit in the tub.”

“I am fairly certain you could fit an ogre in there, Fenris. And I must say, I quite like that ‘holding you’ idea of yours.”

“Then let us go.”

“Yes, but first: food,” Anders said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.

  

They decided that the morning’s exertions justified a large breakfast. Still not inclined to move any more than was absolutely necessary, they took their time finishing it, sharing smiles and idle stories of their friends and their pasts, as well as some gossip about the city’s more prominent residents. Anders was surprisingly up to speed for someone who lived in Darktown and showed no interest in the nobility, yet he refused to reveal his sources (the dwarf, Fenris suspected,).

Noon had long passed by the time they finally made it into the bathtub. Fenris climbed in after Anders, leaning against his chest as the mage grabbed a cloth and carefully began to rub it over his body in gentle circles.

“Is this alright?

“I seem to recall you saying you would stop asking?”

Fenris craned his head around, meeting Anders' eyes with a lazy smile to let him know he wasn’t angry. He was way too comfortable for that. And even without the warmth of the water around him, the pressure of the mage’s skin against his back and the constant, tender massage of the cloth against his skin, he doubted he would have felt anything more than mild annoyance. Of course Anders was anxious; it was a part of who he was. How could Fenris hold that against him? The mage always worried; Fenris just hadn’t realized that was what it was back when they…No. Those days were over. And now he knew. Anders worried, about his friends, about himself; he worried he wasn't good enough. But he _was_ good enough. He was perfect. And one day, Fenris would make him see it, would make him understand that there was nothing to worry about, not ever again, when it came to being...loved.

The word still felt strange in his mind, and it wouldn't roll off his tongue, like a marble with unexpected edges, but lately, it had begun to change shape. Perhaps one day, it would be as smooth as it was supposed to be. And maybe Fenris would be able to say it then. Anders had assured him there was no need for it, but after all he had given him, Fenris longed to give him something in return. One day. Perhaps.

For now, he could give him something else.

He took hold of the mage's hand and grabbed the cloth, then moved to lean against the other end of the tub, signalling for Anders to follow. “Let me bathe you as well.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t…”

“I have changed my mind. Let me.”

“Alright,” Anders nodded. With rather more splashing than Fenris, he turned around, letting out a deep sigh as he lay back against his chest. “Mmm, you’re so much more comfortable than the edge of the tub…”

“An interesting compliment.”

“Well, I’m an interesting person,” Anders grinned, twisting his head to place a kiss on his nose. The mage nuzzled into him, closing his eyes, and Fenris slowly began to clean his body with the same tenderness Anders had shown him. Although he did occasionally poke him to make sure he hadn’t fallen asleep.

After the mage had been thoroughly cleaned as well, they stayed in the tub, in each other’s arms, until the water had cooled down to an uncomfortable degree. Anders looked up at him with a sigh, “I’d rather not try to heat the water while we’re sitting in it. My fire spells aren’t as precise as my healing. So I guess we should…” he sighed again, “get out and get dressed.”

Fenris gave a hesitant nod. “Will you…stay for a bit, afterwards? Or do you have to leave immediately?”

Anders’ lips curved into a smile as he reached for Fenris’ hands and intertwined their fingers. “I had planned to stay until tomorrow, actually. Well, if you don't mind, of course. I'd like to have a whole day with you. You know, wake up together, spend the day together, fall asleep together, all of that. I sometimes have to close my clinic for weeks when I’m away on a job with Hawke, one day is no problem.”

“And does...Justice agree to this as well?”

“He does, actually. I’m not quite sure why, but something in the way he feels about you seems to have changed when he absorbed your lyrium’s energy. He seems less....opposed to the thought of me ‘wasting’ time with you. I doubt he’d remain this calm if I spent the entire week with you, but a day should be fine. Especially after you gave us so much time to work on our manifesto last week.”

“So you will stay,” Fenris nodded, squeezing Anders' hand as every part of his body came alive with a feeling of warmth and belonging. He would get to spend another day, and another night, knowing that the mage wouldn’t leave his side. Anders would still be there in the morning. It was, once again, better than anything he could have dreamed.

 

 

In the end, “a whole day” turned into three. They were filled with little else but kissing, fucking and lounging beneath the covers with lazy talk and idle caresses until they had regained enough energy to fuck again. Occasionally, they made it as far as the kitchen to fetch some food. And each night, Anders sat up against the wall with Fenris curled up next to him, his head on his lap as the mage's voice brought books to life for him.

It was an unhurried, blissful cocoon of togetherness, and had it been up to Fenris, it could have gone on like this forever. But at last, Anders announced with a sigh that he had been neglecting his patients and really needed to go.

Fenris bit back a sigh of his own. The mage had already stayed so much longer than they had intended to, and Fenris remembered only too well how worried he had been about moving too fast and forgetting that other things were important too. Admittedly, just then he had a hard time coming up with anything that mattered more than what they had shared those last days…except the one: that Anders was happy, and that he knew he was…loved, no matter what, with the same certainty that he had planted in Fenris’ chest. Fenris didn’t have the words to tell him but…perhaps there were other ways to show him.

“I have taken up more of your time than we agreed upon. I apologize. To your sp…to Justice, as well.”

“There’s no need to apologize. I wanted to stay. And I promise, I’ll come back to…stay over again as soon as I can,” the mage said with an unusually shy smile.

Fenris firmly shook his head. “No. I shall take you out on a date, first.”

“Really?” Anders’ voice was caught somewhere between a whisper and a squeal, and Fenris found it hard not to chuckle.

He placed a soft kiss on the mage’s forehead.

“Yes.”


	26. Chapter 26

It was unusually warm for this time of year. Even this close to nightfall, the heat was suffocating, baking the dirt and dust of the rundown streets, bleaching the facades of the buildings surrounding them until everything looked like a desaturated fever-dream, pale and distant, a constant flicker just outside your line of vision. It only increased the temptation to dunk his feet into the water beckoning just a few inches away from his boiling toes, but given that they were at the docks, in _Kirkwall_ , Fenris resisted. Still, he couldn’t help throwing the occasional longing glance at the brackish bliss as he watched Anders arrange their food on the blanket he had laid out between them. “An outdoor picnic, for once,” the mage had said with a wink when Fenris had agreed to meet him here today. The docks seemed like an odd place for a date, but as long as he got to be with Anders, Fenris didn't care all that much about the location. Given the current temperature, it was probably best to finish the food off quickly, though. Not that Anders was going to have any difficulty with that, he thought, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

After those three blissful days of having the mage all to himself, Fenris had given Anders half a week to catch up on his work in the clinic, and then taken him out to an exhibition of Ferelden paintings and sculptures (in other words, every possible rendition of “mabari”, plus a few mockeries of Orlais), followed by dinner at what he had come to think of as _their_ place. This time, there had been no reason to bemoan the fact that the tavern was so close to his mansion – while he’d had every intention to end the night with only a kiss and the promise of another date, Anders had had very different ideas, firmly refusing Fenris’ offer to walk him to his clinic and practically catapulting both of them through the door as soon as they reached the mansion, equally firm in his refusal of the suggestion of parting ways there.

“As lovely as that Goodnight kiss was, screw that, I’m staying. I’ll be busy the next few days, so you’d better take advantage of me while you still can. And please,” he gave Fenris _that_ grin, the one that made his leggings practically unlace themselves, “ _do_. Repeatedly.”

Fenris wasn’t one to deny such a heartfelt request.

Anders had left early in the morning and, true to his word, secluded himself in his clinic for almost a week afterwards. He had, however, shown up for Wicked Grace and agreed to meet Fenris for a short breakfast-stroll across the Hightown market a few days later, which had helped make the time spent without him not feel quite that long. Still longer than Fenris would have wished, certainly, but bearable. After all, it wasn’t like he didn’t have things to do himself. And of course, preparations to make.

But this salt-sprayed and sun-baked picnic was something Anders had prepared for _him_ , and while Fenris didn’t entirely get the appeal (he had, in all honesty, been just fine with their indoor ones), he appreciated the effort. Not to mention the fact that it meant the mage had to have spent at least parts of their time apart thinking of him as well.

The mage in question was now laying his hand upon his, mirth twinkling in his eyes and changing the curve of his lips. Before Fenris had a chance to ask just what exactly was so funny, he felt a shiver run all the way through his body, as if icy fingers were trailing along every inch of his skin, and a soft breeze of winter-scented air against his face, mussing up his hair and tickling the tips of his ears.

“I thought you could do with a little cool-down. It’s a bit warmer than I thought it would be.”

“How did you do that?”

“Magic?” came the grinning reply.

“I never would have guessed. I am shocked and appalled.”

That earned him a snort, and a kiss on his cheek.

“It takes training to grasp the subtleties, but that was actually just a tiny, a very, _very,_ tiny blizzard. As for the other spell, that’s a Circle specialty. We used to call it the…icicle.”

“Icicle?”

“Well, its use is normally limited to a very…specific part of the body.”

Cocking his head, Fenris raised an eyebrow at the mage. “Tell me more…”

“Welllll, if you’re not opposed to the idea, I could show you a few fun uses for it,” Anders said, drawing out each word. “But that’s more a thing for an _indoor_ picnic. Doesn’t quite fit the mood of what I’d planned for today.”

“There is more?” The mage had only mentioned the picnic, which had suited Fenris just fine, given that he had his own plans for the rest of their night.

“There is, actually. But…we should probably eat first. I don’t think food would be appropriate for the second part of our date.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“Just wait and see…or well, wait and eat

 

Even with a good deal of idle talk and the occasional kiss, it didn’t take them long to finish their meal. While Fenris could have done with a little less heat, he found that he rather enjoyed this combination of fresh air, food, and _Anders_. Perhaps, he mused, they could do that again in a more secluded place, somewhere along the Wounded Coast, where there wouldn’t be any chatter around them, just the two of them, delicious food, and the mage’s equally delicious smile…

Anders interrupted his deliberations with a prolonged clearing of his throat. Tossing the remains of his last apple into the water, he turned to look at Fenris, nervousness fraying the edges of his smile.

“You know…I’ve been racking my brain trying to come up with something even remotely as significant as all the things you’ve done for me. I don’t think I can. Xenon’s library alone, not to mention what you said when we were down there… Nothing I can do could even come close to what that meant to me. Still…here’s my weak attempt at doing at least _something_.”

Anders craned his neck in every direction, carefully checking the few stragglers still lingering near the pier in the distance. Once he was satisfied that no one was paying them any attention, he lifted his hand above his head and, to Fenris’ horror, shot a tiny purple flame through the window of a nearby warehouse.

“Ma- Anders! Someone might see.”

“That’s why I checked, first,” the mage said with a reassuring pat to his shoulder. “I had to give a signal, to ensure the special part of our date had your full attention.”

When Fenris continued to merely stare at him, eyes narrowed and forehead furrowed, Anders raised his hand again.

“Over there.”

Fenris squinted, trying to figure out what the mage was pointing at.

“It is a…ship. Given our location, I dare say a sight to be expected.” There were lot of those indeed, heavy wooden bodies to their left and right, more in the distance, like mirages in the fading light, but the mage seemed to be indicating a specific one, several piers down from where they were sitting. A teasing note to his voice, he added. “Are you certain this date wasn’t meant for Isabela?”

“I don’t think she’d be all that fond of this particular ship. It’s from Tevinter.”

The word hit Fenris like an entirely different sort of frost spell. He tried to keep his voice even, but the words came out in a hiss regardless.

“And you thought I would want to see that – _why_ exactly?”

“I didn’t, but I did think you might want to see something being done about it.” Anders took his hand and squeezed. “After years of helping the refugees, Lirene has eyes and ears all over the city. She helped me locate these Tevinter bastards. They are behind one of the major slaver rings in the city, and they are preparing to set sail tonight, as soon as their next ‘delivery’ arrives. ” His eyes showed the faintest hint of blue, yet his voice was still his. “Meredith might have as good as destroyed the mage underground, but there are a few mages I helped escape who haven’t fled the city yet, and they are going to light these blighters on fire any minute now.”

As if on cue, a cascade of fireballs and lightning rained down on the ship Anders had indicated. Within minutes, they had reduced the majestic construction to a blazing mess of smoke, cracking wood, and screams. And still, they kept coming.

Amidst the fume and clamour, people, some of them in fancy robes, some in the thick leather armour you’d expect to see in Darktown, were climbing, squeezing, trampling each other trying to make it out, gasps of pain filling the air as flesh hit the rough dirt of the docks. Their desperate struggles only earned them a few feet of ground and a handful of breaths. From shadows and roofs, undercity and alleys, masked figures appeared, forming a half-circle around the ship. Some of the crew tried pleas, some brandished their weapons and charged, coughing and sputtering. For all of them, beggars and fighters alike, steel and clubs set an end to their journey. Arrows, descending from more windows than Fenris could count took care of those whose haughty smirks indicated they were preparing to cast spells. Spells which they foolishly thought were going to save them. Mere seconds later, another volley rained on the ones that had sought refuge in the water.

The mage gave a satisfied nod. His smile was as dark as his voice as he said, “Lirene sent some of the Ferelden workers to take care of those that make it off the ship. Wouldn’t do to have that scum escape, don’t you agree?” He huffed “Good thing Tevinters really are as arrogant as you always say. Had they bothered to bring more magisters, this might have _actually_ been a challenge, instead of a massacre.”

“You are…killing slavers for me.” He shouldn’t sound so awestruck, he knew. But he _was_.

“Well, technically I am having them killed for you. Makes it a bit easier to hold your hand while we watch…”

And watch they did. This was the kind of massacre Fenris could get behind, the kind he allowed his mind to indulge in every time his nights were filled with dread and devoid of sleep. But this was no elaborate fantasy, the smoke drifting far enough to sting his eyes was as real as the blow against those that enslaved his kind. And next to him, Anders was looking on with an expression of grim satisfaction much like his own.

By contrast, the touch of the mage’s hand was soft around his own, his thumb rubbing slow, absentminded circles into his skin. Fenris let his head sink onto Anders’ shoulder with a sigh. It was probably best not to linger for too long, but he didn’t want to take his eyes off the sight in front of him. He knew it was but a small victory – for each ship burnt down, there were ten waiting to take its place - yet that didn’t diminish the pleasure of bearing witness to their deaths. The deaths of those that kept spreading the vice and greed of his homeland until even the last speck of the known world was corrupted, stealing people, destroying lives and minds. Letting go of his hatred was one thing, letting slavers go another. They deserved their fate, magisters and crew alike, and he would not shed a tear for them, even if his heart clenched at the thought of the helpless slaves caught in the attack. Anders had assured him their victims weren’t on board, but Fenris had yet to meet a single magister who would travel without at least a handful of personal slaves. He wasn’t sure if Anders knew that too, though, so he kept his moment of regret for them silent. There was no point in bringing it up. Any slave chosen for such a journey would have had every last trace of resistance beaten out of him long ago. They couldn’t have been saved. But those that had been snatched off the streets of Kirkwall might still have a chance…

“Mage,” he said, raising his head, “the people they stole, do you know where they are keeping them?”

Anders didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation, for he reached up with a smile and… bopped his nose. “You don’t have to worry about that.”

Fenris blinked in irritation. “If we do not free them soon, their lives are forfeit. Once news of what happened here travels, the rest of the crew will not want witnesses…”

“I know. That’s why this is just phase one. They have several bases all across town, and if there’s to be a chance of getting their victims out alive, all of those have to be attacked at the same time. That’s why I…” he hesitated, fidgeting with a loose thread on his coat, “asked Donnic for help. That part of the mission is more about ‘arrest’ than ‘kill’, so I figured the guard could be involved. The raids should have already started by now.”

Fenris jaw nearly joined grime at his feet. “How did you manage to arrange all that?”

A slight blush crept onto Anders’ face. “I’d been planning this for quite a while, actually. Justice is still…focussed, but with all he has…learned about you, there wasn’t exactly a raging objection on his part when I devoted some of my time to this. It’s a just cause. And,” he added quietly, “these people hurt you. If I kill every last one of them, it still won’t be enough.”

Fenris couldn’t deny the warmth that sparked in his gut at those words. Yet that warmth had brought a companion, one that sunk its claws into him just as thoroughly. _Fear_. He didn’t want Anders to get hurt, not for him, not for anyone, so he took his face in his hands and whispered, “I appreciate it, mage. But it _is_ enough. I would rather you spent your time kissing me than killing them. It puts you at a considerably smaller risk.” Before Anders had a chance to voice the protest his frown left little doubt was about to follow, Fenris continued, chastising himself for not having thought of it earlier, “What about your…mage friends? Surely they are now in danger of discovery?”

“They’re probably already in the tunnels, on their way out of the city. They were about to leave Kirkwall anyway. It’s what they should have done weeks ago, but it was hard for them to accept that the only way to protect their families is to disappear. And even if the people here were the sorts to report to the guard, which I somehow doubt they are, there isn’t really much to tell - it’s not like anyone _saw_ them using magic. There might not even be an investigation; it’s a Tevinter ship, after all. The city guard isn’t exactly keen on those, even if they can’t be arsed to actually _do_ anything about the slave trade.”

“True,” Fenris nodded. “Still, I shall ask Aveline to keep an eye on the matter. She has little qualms when it comes to slavers. She will help.”

“That would be a great help, thanks,” Anders said, smile turning into a grin as he added, “You do realise you’d be helping mages escape, though?”

“They were doing you a favour. I might prefer it if they were not let loose upon the world, but I will not see them captured for something they did for you. For…me.”

He had managed to keep his sigh internal, and the way Anders’ face lit up was all the reward he could have asked for. As was sometimes the case when he was faced with nothing but love in the mage’s eyes, his throat constricted, as incapable of letting his feelings pass through as his mind was of putting them into words. Too flustered to hold Anders’ gaze, he looked around. The screams had stopped, as had the sounds of metal hitting flesh or bodies falling to the ground. All that was left to be heard were the hissing of the flames still steadily devouring its prey, and the footsteps and chatter of the night’s heroes searching the corpses for loot.

While the fire certainly looked mesmerizing, its heat and stench were far less appealing. And the longer they lingered, the greater the odds that the guards would show up after all, even if most of them were likely involved in the raids Donnic had organised. Anders shouldn’t be seen near this. And, Fenris supposed, neither should he. Practical aspects. Those weren’t quite as hard to express.

“We should move on. The task is done. There is no need to risk being found near the scene.”

“You’re probably right,” Anders agreed. “They can’t get much deader, and I’ve got enough Darktown dust in my hair; I don’t need to add an extra layer of soot. Let’s get going.”

“Good,” Fenris said as he got to his feet. “I am impatient to show you what I have planned for tonight.”

He pulled the mage up by his arms and turned to leave, sparing one last, lingering look at what was left of the proud Tevinter vessel.

“Tonight?”

“Yes. Since I knew you’d be available, I took the liberty of preparing something as well.” He grinned. “This is a two-date day. “

“Oh? I…must say, I could get used to that,” the mage said with a grin of his own. ”What is it?”

“You shall see.”

“Always so enigmatic,” Anders sighed.

“Says the man who secretly mobilised half the city to surprise me.”

“You…have a fair point. Still, what is it?”

All he got for a reply was a fond smirk and a firm headshake.

 

They left the docks quickly and quietly, slinking through back alleys and the undercity. When they reached the steps to Lowtown, Fenris deemed it safe enough to slow down and take Anders’ hand in his.

“In case I did not make it clear before, this was better than any date I could have dreamed. Thank you.”

“Any time, Fenris. I’m just relieved you liked it. I know carnage isn’t exactly the kind of gesture you’d find in an Orlesian love poem, but then, neither are our circumstances.”

“Indeed,” Fenris nodded, tugging on Anders’ hand. “This way.”

“Where are we going?”

“Patience, mage.” Fenris threw him a smirk over his shoulder. “Your date is over. Now follow my lead.”

“Actually, there’s more,” Anders replied, oddly nervous considering he was delivering a retort. “Or well, at least there’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about. I...have been thinking...I’d like to offer healing in the alienage, perhaps once a week. Not everyone there can make it to Darktown, and even for those who can, the trip is unnecessarily dangerous. I don’t see why they should have to take that risk if I can just come to see them instead. Merrill talked to the local healers, and they’ve agreed to let me use their place. Granted, they weren’t too thrilled with the idea of a human barging in, but well, they could really use a mage, herbs and potions will only get you so far …” He sputtered on, his apprehension becoming more apparent with each word. “If you don’t want me to do this, I won’t. I know you don’t feel much of a connection to other elves, and I’m not trying to say you should; it’s just…elves suffer, too. The way people treat you, simply for the way you were born…I’ve never paid it much attention, but now…Trying to free the mages is already consuming me alive, I can’t take on another cause, but maybe I can help at least a little. I know it’s not enough but…”

He interrupted Anders’ ramblings with a nod. “I shall go with you.”

“There’s no need for that, Fenris. I know the place makes you uncomfortable, and Merrill said…”

“I do not care what protection the witch thinks she can offer you. These are people neither of us knows anything about. It could be a trap to gain the Templars favour.”

“I don’t think they would…”

“I do not _think_ they would either. Yet it is dangerous to be too trusting. You know that as well as I do. So if you insist on putting yourself in danger, it will be with me at your side.”

Anders sighed. “Alright, I get it, you don’t want me to do it. It was just an idea…”

Fenris wrapped an arm around the mage’s waist. As he pulled him close and pressed a kiss to his cheek, he found himself wishing he were tall enough to bury his nose in Anders’ hair and kiss his head the way the mage liked to do when Fenris needed comfort.

“Quite the contrary. I like the idea. I merely insist you don’t take needless risks. It will be safer for you with someone there to protect you.”

There was a painful edge to Anders’ voice. “I’m not letting you play bodyguard for a mage again, Fenris, never, not even if that mage is me…”

The words stung. Fenris prepared himself for that familiar torrent of shame to take over his body – yet it never came. There was a faint sense of nausea in the pit of his stomach, but that, too, began to recede almost the moment it had started, leaving Fenris’ blinking in confusion. And then, ever so slowly, with a soft smile on his face.

“It took me a long time to learn that lesson, but there are advantages in numbers. I am not ‘guarding’ you, mage. We are guarding each other. I protect what is mine, just as you protect what is yours.”

After a long moment of stubborn silence, Anders relented. Somewhat.

“I…guess you’re right. But I don’t want to cause you extra work. There’s no need for you to waste your time following me around the alienage. I’ll be fine…”

“In case you had not noticed, I enjoy following you.” Anders made to reply, but Fenris cut him off with a, he dared say perfect, imitation of Hawke’s offended pout. “Do you not enjoy my company? Is that what you are trying to tell me?”

Trying and failing to biet back a grin, the mage slowly shook his head. “If you’re willing to stoop that low, it must be serious…Alright. But only for a few weeks. Once you’re satisfied there are no Templars hiding in the…whatever that tree is called, you’ll let me go on my own. You have better things to do.”

“I sincerely doubt that. And it is called Vhenadahl.”

“He is handsome, he protects me, he feeds me _and_ he knows it all – what more does a man need? Well, aside from some information as to how far we still have to walk, perhaps…”

“All the way through the city I am afraid. But that gives us time to talk. I would like that.” He smirked. “We have not had much opportunity for talking, lately…”

“True, we were too busy doing…other things.” Anders grinned as he let his head rest atop Fenris’. “Well, lead the way then, to whatever strange, hidden place you have chosen.”

“It is neither strange nor hidden. You have been there often.”

“I…have?”

“You shall see.”

  

“The…Keep? Is that what I was supposed to see?” Anders asked, forehead crinkling as he turned to look at him.

“Not quite. Aveline is meeting us inside.”

“Aveline? That… I mean, I am open to experimentation, I suppose, but I must admit I thought that wouldn’t become necessary quite so soon - and I certainly didn’t picture Aveline having any part in it….” the mage made a feeble attempt at a joke. He was still staring at Fenris in utter confusion, but followed him up the deserted stone steps and past the two guards at the entrance.

As she had promised, Aveline was still in her office, although it would have been easy to miss her behind the almost Varric-sized piles of paper on her desk. She only acknowledged their presence with a brief nod.

“Give me a few minutes, or I’ll forget these numbers and have to start over. Wait outside, I’ll join you when I’m done.”

“I appreciate this, Aveline.”

She dismissed them with another nod.

 

It took considerably longer than a few minutes, but at long last, Aveline decided to grace them with their presence.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” she said as she hurried up the stairs, signalling for them to follow her. “I still have hours of paperwork to get through. Which reminds me – please try to keep it quiet.”

“Why are we heading for the throne room?” Anders piped up from behind Aveline’s staunchly marching back. “I thought that had been sealed off?”

“Well, that’s the expression they use. It’s off-limits to the public, but it seems that just means we keep it locked unless Meredith decides she has a reason to wander around in there. Which she does, with disturbing frequency, if you ask me.”

At that, she dug a key out of her pocket and unlocked the large doors to the antechamber. She ushered them in, glancing over her shoulder with something akin to worry, and quietly shut the door behind them. She crossed the room at the same brisk pace she had assumed for their walk upstairs, and repeated the process with the doors to the throne room proper.

“There you go,” Aveline turned to Fenris with a nod. He repeated the gesture with a matching, blank expression and looked over his shoulder at Anders, who was shaking his head with the same confused smile he had worn when they had approached the Keep.

“I suppose by now, nothing should surprise me anymore. I’d still like to know just what exactly is going on, though.”

“Our date is ‘going on’. And today, you get to feel like a king. And,” Fenris added with a little smirk, “so shall I.” Holding out an arm and indicating a slight bow, he gestured for Anders to walk inside.

Aveline had delivered (not that he had doubted her…much). The half of the giant room that was closer to the door had been left untouched, but the raised part near the throne was illuminated by several dozen candles, just enough keep the lighting soft yet bathe the room in a warm glow. Flowers, in large vases on the floor and smaller ones on a table that had been set up at a short distance from the throne, filled the room with a pleasant scent. Amidst the flowers stood several bottles of wine and items of food Fenris couldn’t discern at this distance.

He shot the mage a grin.

“I hope you are still hungry.”

“You have to ask?” There was a hint of a grin on Anders’ face, yet he seemed distracted, still taking in the decorations. Aside from the flowers, the food, and the candles, there were also colourful carpets covering the cold stone floor, and in a small nook to the side of the throne, several thick-looking blankets and fluffy pillows had been arranged into a comfortable heap. The books Fenris had asked Aveline to bring were on the floor next to the makeshift bed, along with a few more candles. It was less boldly unsubtle than what Hawke might have come up with, but hardly less suggestive – although she hadn’t gone so far as to present them with scented oil. (Not that it was needed, ever since their glorious three days, Fenris always kept the little bottle tucked safely into his pouch.)

He gave Aveline a pleased smile. “Cosy, yet not too much. Just like I asked. Thank you, Aveline.”

She waved him off. “You have Donnic to thank for that. He had last night off and carried most of it over once the Keep had emptied out. I only made a few additional suggestions to ensure it remained tasteful, and lit the candles.”

At that, Anders tore his eyes from the room and turned his full attention to Aveline.

“You…did this for us? I…thank you.” He worried his lips between his teeth for a moment, then added, in a decidedly more teasing tone, “I must say, I didn’t expect you to be supportive.”

“I can’t say I really am, but it’s Fenris’ choice.” Aveline sighed. “And I will admit you make him happy. I have seen him change over the last months and...you do. I am going to trust his judgement, but if you dare hurt him….” She let the threat hang in the air, her expression softening, “Although I have to say, smiling is a good look on you. Perhaps you _can_ make each other happy.”

“Admit it, you just want me to paint your toenails again.”

Aveline’s chuckle held only the slightest trace of exasperation. As she shook her head, the look on her face seemed almost…fond. “You and that big mouth of yours...You’d better be careful it doesn’t get you into trouble.”

“I’m sorry, but my mouth is exclusively Fenris’ trouble now.”

“It had better be. I won’t hesitate to kick your ass if you mess this up.”

In an instant, Anders was serious again. So utterly serious Fenris felt his throat constrict again.

“Trust me, if I do, I’ll be the first to offer my arse up for a kicking. Hurting him is the last thing I want to do.”

“Good. Because this”, she pointed at the room, “was all Fenris idea. He came up with it weeks ago; it just took me a while to organise everything. It had to be at a time when the Seneschal’s out of town for a few days. No need to risk him noticing the absence of the key. Which reminds me…” Aveline tossed Anders the object in question. “Here. Since I assume you want to lock the doors.”

Anders stared at her, eyebrows raised, hand clutching his chest.

“You'd let us defile these holy halls?”

“The viscount's head landed right over there. I'd say it's already been defiled,” she huffed, ignoring his display and turning to leave, calling over her shoulder. “Don’t forget to return the key first thing tomorrow morning.”

As soon as the door had shut behind her, Fenris heard Anders mumble, “Well, that’s pretty hot… The thought of, defiling these halls, I mean, not the, ahem, decapitation, of course…” he rushed on, a rueful look on his face.

Fenris couldn’t take his eyes of him. There he stood, fidgeting, with a crooked smile on his face, his beautiful mage, radiant and bashful. He should have been only a tiny figure in the large chamber, yet his presence dwarfed it all.

“I suggest you go use that key.”

“Oh, and why’s that? Do you have any specific…plans that require privacy?”

Fenris didn’t know the cause of this new sense of boldness, but he did know he never felt it as strongly as when he was with Anders. He had yet to grow accustomed to it, but with each passing day, it became a little easier to ask for what he wanted, and to say exactly what he was thinking.

So he sought the mage’s gaze and did just that.

“I want to ride you on that throne.”

Anders made a breathless little gasp at the back of his throat. “Maker, Fenris…Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Feeling himself blush, Fenris began to falter. Had he been too bold after all? “I mean...if you also…”

Anders cocked his head. “I repeat: You have to ask?”

“For this, I think I do.”

The smile that took over the mage’s face was impossibly soft. “Trust me, I am more than willing. But should we really ignore the plush love-nest Aveline so kindly prepared for us?”

Fenris walked over to the pile, snatched up a blanket and two pillows, placed them on the throne and turned back to the mage with a wordless smirk. Later, he decided, they would curl up on the remaining blankets, the mage’s arms around him as he read him stories of kings and griffons. _Later._

“So,” Anders drawled, eyes twinkling, “I’m guessing talking is off the table?”

“Consider it postponed. And now kiss me.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to wait just a little bit longer,” the mage grinned, quite obviously enjoying himself. “I still have to lock the door…”

 

Stripped and panting, braced against the throne, they locked eyes. The blankets had fallen onto the floor; the pillows were about to share their fate. Anders arms holding him, firmly, gently, Fenris positioned himself, sunk down, and…slipped. Yet this time, instead of a wave of blushing awkwardness, a chuckle bubbled up inside him. _This,_ he should have been able to do...

Still giggling, he leaned his forehead against Anders’. “I appear to have serious issues with coordination.”

The mage’s lips brushed softly against his cheeks, his throat rumbling with a low chuckle of his own. “Well, not that I mind, the more we fumble around, the longer we get to enjoy each other, but that’s not exactly the most reassuring thing to hear from someone who routinely handles giant, pointy weapons…”

“My targets are usually a lot bigger.”

Anders blinked. Once. Twice. “I…am going to assume this was just poor phrasing. Otherwise things might soon get considerably _smaller_.”

Fenris rubbed his nose against Anders, trying hard to bite back a laugh. “Poor phrasing indeed.” He wrapped his hand around the mage’s cock at the words, and began to work it at a merciless pace.

Between his moans, pants and creative variations of the name of the Maker and his bride, Anders still managed a little smile. “Ready to give it another try?”

“I am. But I might need your help.”

“Any time, Fenris.”

 

He couldn’t stop staring at Anders’ face, just inches away from his own. Head thrown back, eyes half-closed and unfocussed, mouth open in silent moans and harsh breaths, the mage was beautiful, he was with him, he was _his_. As he sought to capture his trembling lips in another kiss, Fenris found himself wondering what it would be like to have this face above him, looking down with that soft smile, or to not be able to see it all, to only know it was the mage through touch and sound and scent, to give himself over and let Anders control their pace. Would it be as unlike anything he had ever known as this?

Because _this_ …This wasn't commands and ordering him to do all the work; this was moving the way he wanted, for himself, for Anders, for the entity they had become; the lines between them were beginning to blur but it wasn’t scary, not when he was held by someone who cared, who _saw_ him, even when his eyes were closed.

This was different.

It didn’t matter if he slipped, or stuttered, if he hesitated or moved too fast; Anders giggles sounded no les sweet than his gasps. There were no threats looming on the horizon, no reprimands to be feared. They were sharing this, Anders’ pleasure, his own, building, intertwining, bouncing off each other, only to intertwine again.

His forehead pressed against Anders’, he could feel his breath hitting his cheeks in rapid puffs, his ragged stammers, “Yes, right there, love, yes, please….” more urgent with every tilt of his hips, hoarse cries mingling with his own. And through all of it, the mages’ arms were there, keeping him safe even after he collapsed on top of him, panting and dizzy with the force of his release.

Anders’ voice made its way through the fog, rough and shaky, with a tinge of worry that made Fenris smile despite himself.

“Fenris, Fenris, love, are you alright?”

He lifted his head just far enough to look at the beautiful, dishevelled mess in his arms.

“I am fine. But,” he added, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips, “I am in urgent need of another three days with you, in my bed, doing nothing but _this_.”

  


	27. Chapter 27

The sun hung low, all but disappearing behind the blocks of once-white stone of Hightown’s buildings. Clouds, thick and grey against the dark pink of the sky, obscured the peaks in the distance. Fenris regarded them with unease, although he couldn’t have said what it was that made them appear threatening – even if he were someone who was bothered by soaked clothes and cold feet, he would be long back in his mansion by the time they reached the city. If they reached it at all. Perhaps his nerves were playing tricks on him. It had been a long day. And it hadn’t been pleasant.

By contrast, the last few weeks had been quiet. “Quiet” as in “uneventful”, the hours spent in Fenris’ bed could hardly be described as quiet in the literal sense. For yes, the mage had stayed another three days, and many more – if shorter – times afterwards. Combined with the at least weekly dates they went on, the days spent healing (or in Fenris’ case, lurking behind the healer with a threatening glare and handing him potions) in the alienage and the obligatory Wicked Grace nights, there was no shortage of time spent together, and Fenris had gotten used to seeing the mage almost every day. Which wasn’t to say Anders had neglected his cause. Every once in a while he’d announce he needed some time for himself and disappear into his clinic. If his absence lasted long enough to worry Fenris, he would eventually drop by and wordlessly start helping out with menial tasks, but generally, he waited until the mage showed up on his doorstep. Their reunion always felt sweeter when he could be sure Anders wasn’t distracted by things he felt he should be doing instead, and while he never tired of the mage’s presence, he cherished having a day to himself every now and again, comfortable with a bottle of wine and his thoughts, or one of the less-demanding books in his library. Silence could be a pleasant companion, so long as it only stayed for a few days, and when he yearned for it to leave, there were other companions, who welcomed his presence with smiles and friendly chatter.

He spent many hours in the Hanged Man, listening to some the dwarf’s tales and the pirate’s dirty jokes he had been missing out on over the past months, and when he wasn’t in the mood for bawdiness, he swung by the Keep for a chat with Aveline and a training match with Donnic or, eventually, visited Sebastian in the Chantry. He had been slightly apprehensive about being alone with him, fearing another of his “gentle lectures”, yet so far, Sebastian had refrained from expressing his disapproval of Fenris’ relationship with Anders with more than the odd pensive frown.

Furthermore, since Hawke was also a regular guest at Varric’s suite, things were slowly getting back to normal between them – not yet normal as in “drinks and reading lessons” (Fenris hadn’t been at Hawke’s estate since the night he had kissed him and preparations for slightly overstepping apologies aside, Hawke hadn’t shown up at Fenris’ mansion either), but comfortable enough to share a round of ale and genuine laughter in a noisy tavern without things getting awkward. He had thus started to work with Hawke more frequently again, although he tended to only pick jobs Varric had also agreed to join in on. There were, after all, three things for which you could always count on the dwarf: drinking, lying, and diffusing tension. Fenris also opted out of anything that would have taken him out of town for more than a week. Miraculously, Hawke never pressed the issue, accepting both agreement and refusal with a nod and an unwavering, blank expression.

As Aveline had promised, Anders hadn’t been part of any of those jobs. Merrill had stepped in for him – until today. This mission – assigned to them by _Meredith_ herself, no less – had been tricky enough that Hawke insisted he needed two mages, and most certainly a healer. A correct assessment, Fenris had to admit, even if he had spent the day constantly worrying about the lingering tension between the two of them. Things had gone peacefully, though. Well, at least between Anders and _Hawke_. Fenris seemed to be less lucky, considering the silent treatment the mage was currently giving him.

Anders hadn’t uttered a single word since they had parted ways with the others in Lowtown. He walked by his side with a distant expression, worrying his bottom lip. And that was just it – he was at his side, but he wasn’t touching him. Normally, they couldn’t make it home, or anywhere, really, without hands brushing or going straight to holding, arms slung around waists, shoulders nudging. There was always touch, always a soothing physical reminder that Anders was next to him. Now, the few feet between them might as well have been the whole of the Free Marches. Anders didn’t retract his hand when Fenris reached out – but he also didn’t intertwine their fingers, or let his thumb caress him in that soft way of his. His hand just lay there, limp and dry in Fenris’ own.

“Mage…”

“Not here, Fenris. We’re almost at your mansion.”

They were, Fenris supposed. Yet “almost” was a relative term when the air seemed to be closing in around you and every single step resounded in your ears like a harbinger of doom. At least Anders was heading there with him, and not to his clinic. He hadn’t abandoned him. Yet.

 

The mage showed him mercy, rounding on him the moment the front door closed behind them. Not with rage, though. No, this was infinitely worse. Sadness. Hollow eyes, the fine lines around his mouth more pronounced than usual, he stood there in the twilight of the crumbling foyer and finally, quietly, spoke.

“I know it’s hard for you. Maker, do I know that…And I know I said it was alright if you hated mages so long as you didn’t hate me…” Fenris made to interject, to explain that he _didn’t_ , but Anders raised his hand. “Please. Let me finish. Your eyes are already doing that thing that makes it impossible for me to stay mad at you and if your voice does that other thing now, I won’t…”

“You are mad at me,” Fenris whispered, more to the mouldy floor than to Anders. He had known, of course he had known. It didn’t make sense that hearing the words should make it worse. But it did.

Anders brushed a hand through his hair, scratching his head. “See, this is what I meant. It’s not fair, Fenris. When you look so sad and scared, all I want to do is protect you, hold you tight, keep you safe. But I have to get this out, please, sometimes…sometimes you just have to… It doesn’t mean that I’m not yours anymore, or that I’ll stay mad at you forever. Which I’m not, by the way. Not really. I’m just…hurt.” He blinked. “I…think I just had a rather vivid memory of my mother.”

“I did not mean…”

Again, Anders didn’t let him finish. “I know. I know. But the things you said…I… Listen, I wasn’t lying. I’m not saying it’s always easy to accept, but after everything that was done to you…mages are never going to be your favourite people. You’re always going to be wary of us, I have no illusions about that.”

“Not of you! Of them, never of you…”

“I _am_ one of them. That’s the point. I am a mage. I’m just like them. I’m not the one glorious exception.” Anders gave a bitter little huff. “Quite the opposite, really.”

The words were out before he could bite them back. “Not all of them have good intentions. You do not care for power, they…”

“Who are ‘they’, Fenris? _All_ the others? Every single mage except for me?” Anders’ voice had risen in volume, yet softened almost immediately when Fenris’ gaze dropped back to the floor, ears burning with the shameful truth in the mage’s word. “You’ve seen the worst of what mages can be. I know that now. I didn’t _want_ to know it, but I do. It’s no wonder your first instinct is to mistrust us. And…I guess you’re not entirely wrong. There are mages who only care for power - not as many as people would have you believe, mind you - but that is not what we saw today. We saw a woman who gave up her freedom to safe starving children, and lost herself out of despair when she realized it had been in vain, that no one was going to help them. We saw a 26-year-old child who just wanted a glimpse at life. Freedom, love, a kiss – all those things you and I thought we could never get. Wanting that doesn’t make him evil, or dangerous, or selfish. And still you had no doubt he was faking it, that he had to be an evil blood mage. You spit in the face of everything I’m trying to achieve, everything I’ve been through. How do you think that makes me feel?”

Guilt and anger were waring inside him. Whoever was winning, the result was bitterness.

“You conveniently left out the third one. Remind me again, what kind of magic did he practice?”

“Yes.” The mage’s sigh was a hollow as his eyes. “Sometimes, your suspicions will prove justified. That doesn’t erase all those other times when they _aren’t_. And even the blood mage…had he not been taken away from his wife, his _life_ , locked up for years without hope – do you think he would have felt the same need for power?”

“If I recall correctly, you specifically complained about ‘elves and blood magic’, so…perhaps?”

He could tell the blow had hit its mark when Anders flinched, and a part of him regretted mentioning it. Another part, however, revelled in reminding the mage that he had spoken just as carelessly.

Anders bit his lip. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t even know _why_ I did, it’s not like I actually believe that, I…”

“You wanted to hurt the witch. And forgot about me.”

“I…guess you’re right. In my defence: you’re not a mage.”

Fenris huffed. “No. I am one of those whose suffering you could ‘no longer ignore’. It is inspiring to see how quickly you got over that.”

The mage’s wince was more pronounced this time. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. It’s a lame excuse, I know, but it’s all I have…”

More scathing remarks, burning his throat like bile, were forcing their way up, but Fenris hesitated. Why was he itching to keep rubbing it in? And why had he even brought it up in the first place? It wasn’t like the mage’s offhand remark had actually angered him. After seven years, he knew Anders rarely meant to harm with his teasing. His mind just needed a little time to catch up with his mouth, sometimes. It was one thing to give him a little slap on the wrist to speed up the process, yet to keep punching him in the gut out of pettiness…

He heaved a sigh, forcing down the bitter words nudging the tip of his tongue. “You expect me to accept that, yet refuse to do me the same courtesy?

“I…am not sure what you mean…” The mage said, brow furrowing as he stumbled through the words.

“You were right about my reaction. I always mistrust, at first. Not just mages. Everyone. If I hadn’t, I would not have survived. That habit is hard to break. But I am trying to become better at it. What you said about the mages we met today… I have told myself the same things on our way home. When I had time to think. My first reaction is rarely my last. I am less…condemning without my…fear getting the better of me.” He swallowed as the day’s images flashed before his eyes. Just like Tevinter. Yet not like Tevinter at all. If only he had words to describe how frustrating it was to see Anders so hurt by something so beyond his control. The memories lingered, and they didn’t care whether there was cause or not. He reached for Anders’ hand and this time, the mage’s fingers answered his questioning touch. Hesitantly, but they did. “That fool in the Hanged Man…he could have been you on one of your early escapes. The abomination in the sewers…she sacrificed herself to help those in need.” He swallowed, hard. “She, too, could have been you. The elf in the alienage, dragged from his past in chains, full of rage at what humans have done to our people. That could have been…me.” There wasn’t a trace of mirth in his snort. “I guess it is for the best that I am not a mage. We all know what happened in the fade. When I warn about weakness, I am not excluding myself.” Anders stroked his thumb across his hand, with all the gentleness and soothing patterns Fenris had so painfully missed. Seeking the mage’s gaze, he took a deep breath. “What I meant to say…I was not lying either. I do not hate mages. Nor do I blame them for the threat they pose. Yet my past is…not always in the past. I know it hurts you, but I must ask you to be patient with me. Please,” he added, wishing his voice wasn’t so tinged with uncertainty.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They stood, fingers intertwined as Fenris awaited judgement. At last, something like a smile tugged at the corners of the mage’s mouth.

“Well, as we all know, patience is one of my strong suits.” He pulled Fenris against his chest and pressed a kiss on the top of his head. “I’m sorry I…well, made such a fuss about it, I guess. I don’t know why it bothered me so much. I mean, compared to some of the things you used to say when we first met, this was nothing. Forget I said anything.” Anders trailed a finger along his chin, tilting up his face to kiss him, but Fenris pulled away.

“I shall not. I will think on what you said. I cannot make promises, but I will…consider it.”

The mage nodded, but even as he did so, his expression became distant. “I’m asking too much of you… _again_. I’m sorry. Its’s just…it seems it doesn’t matter how many mages _don’t_ turn to blood magic, all it takes is _one_ who does and everyone points their finger yelling ‘See! We knew it!’ No one cares that there are a hundred innocent mages standing right next to them. It just hurts. Why are the ‘good examples’ never used in the same way? And then Hawke used that paper-thin excuse to send us off before he went to report back to Meredith, because apparently I’m not even allowed to tell her off. Of course not, why should a mage be allowed to defend himself, what a crazy thought…”

Hawke had indeed been wise enough not to take Anders along to the initial discussion at the Gallows, or when it came to reporting back to Meredith afterwards. He had been watching Anders become more and more agitated with just as much worry as Fenris. Champion or not, if the Knight Commander herself insisted Anders had to be locked up, Hawke wouldn’t have been able to get him out of the Gallows. He might have tried, but it would only have resulted in none of them making it out alive. So he made sure Anders didn’t get the chance to confront her. Fenris rarely felt the need to thank the Maker, but for that, he had sent a prayer that would have made Sebastian weep tears of joy. Unsurprisingly, Anders wasn’t quite as happy. His stubborn fool. Always ready to risk too much. To risk everything.

“He was trying to protect you, mage. Insulting the Knight Commander is not going to help your cause. But it _is_ very likely to get you into trouble.”

Anders crossed his arms in front of his chest, rolling his eyes as he huffed.

“I can handle myself, thanks. And who knows what ideas she is planting in his head right this very minute….”

“He let the man-child go. Do you think he would have done that if he intended to further aid Meredith? He is on your side, mage.”

_In all the ways I cannot be._

He suddenly found it difficult to swallow.

“And still he did Meredith’s dirty work.”

The slight screeching in the mage’s voice, the rapidly drumming fingers and tapping feet, the way his eyes flitted across the room, never truly settling on anything…Fenris should have seen it coming – the mage had spent all day being forced to kill those he had sworn to safe.

It had been a while since Fenris had seen him like this and back then, it had evoked quite a different reaction. Where he had once rolled his eyes, he now felt the lump in his throat double in size. He had seen Anders hide behind his anger before, had watched him spiral into despair and panic when that shield was ripped away, but never before had he been so desperate to make it stop.

Of course, he’d never had to. Hawke had been there, with kind words and understanding, pouring as much of his surplus of confidence into the mage as he needed to be able to breathe again. But Hawke wasn’t here, and Fenris stood empty-handed.

He dug his nails into his palms, shaking his head ever so slightly. No. Not empty-handed. He had everything he felt for Anders, everything they shared. And he had witnessed Varric soften the mage’s nervous gestures with an ale and a tale, had heard Isabela coax him out of his darkness with a dirty joke. Fenris could provide those, and more. A meal and a bath, a warm bed and kisses.

But first, he had to keep him from spiralling further.

“Had he let her do it herself, there would be three cold bodies now, not two.” Anders’ lips started to move, but Fenris was faster. “And while we are on the topic of _bodies_ …Perhaps you would like to tell me about you… _kissing everyone_?”

Anders stopped fidgeting.

And gulped.

 

As Fenris had hoped, a mage busy evading delicate revelations was a lot easier to guide up the stairs than a panicking one. Once he had him in his room and had kindled a fire, he dropped the subject of past kisses in favour of present ones, holding Anders close until he was confident that the last tremble had been purged from his bones. He prepared him a bath, and a meal, then sat in his armchair with the mage’s lanky form curled up on his lap. Anders’ nose pressed into his neck as Fenris petted his damp hair, humming the melody the mage had taught him. Fenris couldn’t promise him that everything was going to be alright, but he could show him that even when it wasn’t, he would be there. They didn’t talk much, but what little words they exchanged were filled with warmth and, eventually, laughter.

 

They had long crawled beneath the covers by the time the clouds reached Kirkwall and began to release their burden onto the sleeping city. The sound of the rain, a steady patter of thick drops, kept Fenris company as he lay awake, sheltered from the downpour in the safety of his home. The cold couldn’t reach him, not with a fire in the hearth and the mage in his arms, and the vines Merrill’s magic had woven across the hole in the roof kept most of the water out. What little made it past them and gathered in small puddles at the far end of the room would dry on its own once the storm had passed. He had nothing to fear from the elements, and yet Fenris couldn’t find rest. As he listened to Anders’ breathing, studied his face, peaceful in the refuge of sleep, his thoughts moved in circles as fast and as relentless as the drumming of the rain on the streets.

With a soft sigh, he stroked a finger along the mage’s jaw, the touch as light as the fall of a feather.

Anders’ eyes fluttered open, their amber darkened by the gloom. Their gaze, however, was clear, no remnants of dreams blurring the questions in them as he reached out for Fenris in return.

“Is everything alright? You look troubled.”

So he hadn’t been asleep after all. It wasn’t easy to meet the mage’s eyes. But he did.

“We had a…fight. And we fought because I hurt you.”

Anders stroked a hand through his hair. “You don’t have to worry about that, Fenris. It happens. And as we both know, I hurt you too. Many times.”

“That was before. It is not the same.”

The mage cocked his head, the skin around his eyes crinkling as he nodded. “You’re right. Now, we get to kiss and make up. And we know better than to just _stay_ angry. We’re still going to be angry sometimes, though. And sometimes, we’ll hurt each other. That’s just…well, how it is. There’s no need to feel guilty, that you can sometimes be a giant prick isn’t exactly news. I knew what I was getting myself into. And,” he finished with a broad grin, “as I’m sure _you_ know by now, I am quite fond of…giant pricks.”

“You do seem fond of yourself, yes.”

Anders chuckled softly. “Well, I suppose insulting me is better than brooding, so I’ll let this one slide.”

“I am not brooding.”

“I’m afraid that crestfallen expression of yours tells a slightly different story.”

Fenris sighed. “You were angry with me. I did not like how that felt.”

“Well, neither did I, but it happens. Trust me, you’ll be mad at me, most likely to the point of wanting to choke me, more often than I’d like, too.”

“Was…Karl ever angry with you?”

The mage’s face crunched up at the words. Silently cursing himself, Fenris reached out to comfort him – and stopped short when he felt the vibrations in Anders’ chest.

The mage was…trying not to laugh?

Brow furrowed in confusion, Fenris stared at him.

“Sorry, it’s just…was Karl _ever_ angry with me?” Anders pressed the words out around a snort. “Maker, was he ever _not_?”

Fenris sat up abruptly. “Did he not treat you well? Did he harm you?”

The laughter stopped. “No. Never. He was gentle and caring. Protective, just like you. And he was always there for me, always listened. But we were young, locked up in a place without hope, and each other’s…firsts…in many ways.” There were tears now, not falling but gathering. “For him, I was also the last. He never got the chance I got to….” The mage shook his head, blinking heavily. When he continued, his voice sounded just a little too bright. “We were each other’s rock. But sometimes, a rock can chafe you, weigh you down. We had to keep things secret, and in order to keep it secret…well…there was the ‘kissing everyone’ I already mentioned. And I’ve always been…let’s just say jealous. And brash, unfair, unkind….too quick with my judgements. And Karl…” He sighed. “We were both so young. We were happy, don’t get me wrong. We loved each other, more than anything. There was never any doubt about that. But still…the one you hold most dear is often the one who has to bear your outbursts. Especially when you’re young and afraid.” The mage gave him a smile, shaky yet warm, and reached out for Fenris, gently pulling him back down next to him. “So yes, sometimes Karl was angry with me. And _I_ was often angry with him. It doesn’t mean we weren’t happy, and it doesn’t change what we were to each other. Just as what happened today doesn’t change what is between _us_. Everything’s alright, Fenris.”

“I...am not certain it is. Your...cause. It is important to you. Would you not rather have someone at your side who supports it?” A shadow flitted across Anders face and he hastened to add, “I will not interfere. Never. But I cannot...help.”

“I won’t deny that I wish you agreed with me, but…“

“I do not disagree. Not completely. What you told me about the Circle - the Templars, the dungeons, the…” he stumbled over the word, “…phylacteries. It needs to change. But the Circles are necessary. Not every mage is as strong as you are.” He shushed Anders’ protest. “It wasn’t an insult. Weakness is not exclusive to mages. I know that now.”

Anders’ sigh held more sadness than he could bear. “We’ll never agree on that. The Circle is an injustice, not a solution.” Fenris felt his heart sink, yet there was smile stealing its way on the mage’s face, full of warmth and affection. “I’d be happy if you supported my cause, but knowing that you still want me, _chose_ me even though you don't…that you’re willing to hold an apostate’s hand in front of our friends…that’s another kind of happiness.”

Fenris hesitated. This was even harder to talk about than Karl. Still, he had to ask.

“How does Justice feel about…this?”

“He has more…difficulty accepting it. That you fought for your own freedom yet don’t support it when it comes to mages still confuses him, but…as I’ve learned more about you and…your past, so has he. That helps. And so does seeing you through my eyes. Or rather, my feelings. And you have been very…respectful when it comes to our work. He likes that.”

“I may not agree, but I will not stand in your way. It is not my place to tell you what to do.”

“I think he understands that. As long as you keep that promise, I’m pretty sure he won’t stand in _our_ way. It’s enough for him. And it’s enough for me. It’s more than I ever dared hope for.” There was a brief pause. As Fenris searched Anders’ eyes for signs of truth, the mage continued, carefully enunciating every word, his voice insistent. “I am happy with you, Fenris. I’m happy with what we have, with how you treat me and how you make me feel. Please don’t doubt that. I know I can be difficult…”

He was in fact not, although it had taken Fenris a long time to finally realize that. Anders only became petulant when he was desperate - and he only became desperate when he felt ignored. Belittled. It wasn’t his fault that he was given so much cause to feel that way. He wasn’t to blame.

But Fenris was. For much too long, he had partaken in their friends’ mockeries, had huffed, rolled his eyes, dismissed. He couldn’t take it back. He couldn’t even ensure that their friends would stop. And yes, Anders had been cruel to him, had provoked him at every turn, had refused to listen just as much. Perhaps even more. Yet the guilt gnawing at his insides had no care for the faults of others. It was too busy feasting on his own.

_Things were different then. And so were we. It is time we leave it behind._

How many times had he repeated those words to reassure the mage? He knew them to be true. But they felt a lot less comforting when he applied them to himself.

Today, Anders hadn’t permitted himself even one moment of spite. There had been no cracks in his skin, no gust of the fade, of Justice trying to have his say. He had tried so hard not to yell, his beautiful mage. To stay calm. For him.

Fenris would try as well.

“Being angry when someone hurts you does not make you ‘difficult’, mage. You deserve better.” He forced a smile. It was a fragile, uncertain little thing, not even close to what Anders deserved. And yet it was accepted. And returned. “I am yours.”

Anders raised a hand and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear with a careful, lingering touch, then leaned in and brushed his lips over his forehead.

“And I am yours. Always. And I’m afraid ‘better’ is not an option, I already have the best the world has to offer: you.”

Fenris cleared his throat around a mumbled “Flatterer.”

There was a soft chuckle against his hair. “You’re one to talk, Ser Smooth.”

“I fear I am lacking in smoothness today.”

“Trust me, you’re doing much better than you think you are,” Anders said. His nose was rubbing against the top of his head in slow, soothing patterns. “Do you think you’ll be able to sleep now?”

Fenris nodded. “Are you?”

“As long as you keep me safely wrapped in your arms, yes.”

“I will always keep you safe, mage. No one will harm you, not ever again.”

Carefully pulling back from Anders’ caresses, he pressed a brief kiss on his lips before he tucked his head beneath his chin and pulled him close. Eyes trained on the shadows painted on the wall by the soft glow of the fire, he kept his hold on him tight, lightly stroking his fingers across his back. Around Fenris’ waist, Anders’ arms were slung just as tightly, and against his neck his voice provided the comfort of familiar stories from his favourite books. The hours passed and the mage kept talking, in low tones as soft as a blanket, and at last, Fenris closed his eyes and let himself be covered.

 


	28. Chapter 28

Rustling dresses, clinking glasses, an absurd amount of jewellery reflecting the light of an even more absurd amount of candles, gleaming as bright as their owners’ affected laughter, disapproving voices and disapproving stares - it was a Hightown event much like any other. Yet while Fenris certainly couldn’t claim he didn’t feel as out of place as ever with his stiff clothes and stiff posture, he realized with satisfaction that he didn’t care. Their mutters and raised eyebrows no longer held any power over him, not when there was a familiar body to lean against, a hand to hold on to, a smile to share. He didn’t need their approval, didn’t need to belong in this place. He belonged with Anders. That was all that mattered.

The mage, however, looked nervous. No smug grin and over-the top flirting, no trace of his usual playfulness - it was obvious he’d rather have been anywhere else than in this crowded hall. Well, anywhere else but the Gallows, perhaps. Seeing him this uncomfortable…it made Fenris’ heart clench.

They’d had fun at these events before, together, had made a game out of annoying people (never too much or too obvious, subtly enough so that the other guests couldn’t be sure that was _really_ what they were doing), stuffed themselves with food and wine (or in Anders’ case, cider)…and of course, there had been the quiet hours on the balcony, hiding from Hightown’s finest as well as from their friends. Sharing words. And silence. Becoming friends. Becoming…them.

It was their first Hightown party since things had changed between them. Although there’d probably been several events in the meantime - Fenris doubted Kirkwall’s nobility would have lasted more than a week without dying of ennui otherwise - Hawke had neither mentioned them nor asked them to come. Granted, they’d also generally seen less of Hawke lately, so perhaps there had simply been no opportunity to invite them. He certainly hadn’t seemed hesitant when he’d insisted Fenris come tonight and “bring his lover”. Fenris, on the other hand, _had_ hesitated for a moment, but ultimately agreed, figuring it was a good opportunity to get the whole group together for an evening. Wicked Grace aside, they hadn’t seen much of their other friends either, and he’d assumed Anders would enjoy spending time with them. Especially when it didn’t involve him losing all his coin, for a change… Not to mention how much the mage loved teasing the nobility.

Or so he’d thought. As it was, Anders looked ready to flee, not at all subtly eyeing ‘their’ balcony despite having only just arrived. Not that Fenris hadn’t planned on getting some alone time with him as well, but it wasn’t like Anders to sneak off without descending on the food first, or to completely ignore their friends (who’d never let them get away with hiding from them all evening anyway…). No, something was bothering him…

He took hold of the mage’s hand, gently tugging on it until Anders turned to look at him.

“What is it, mage? You do not seem happy. Did you not want to come here?” Anders had given no indication of being opposed to attending the party. In fact, he’d appeared quite enthusiastic. But perhaps Fenris had misread that… “I thought you might enjoy another date like the ones we used to have. It seems I was mistaken. We can leave, if you’d rather go somewhere else…”

“It’s not that,” Anders replied, not quite meeting his eyes. “I just...everyone’s looking at us. I know that’s not exactly new, and it’s not like _they_ know things are…different between us now, but… It used to be a game to annoy the nobles. Well, at least in the beginning, after a while it became more of an excuse to be near you…Still, it was a game and now it’s…It just feels strange. I know it doesn’t make sense…”

Fenris let his gaze wander, taking in the room, the glittering people, their raised eyebrows and open stares – at them, or, just as likely, at the man in front of them – and Anders, his hunched up shoulders and fidgeting hands. He wasn’t sure what to say. But perhaps that didn’t matter. Perhaps there were better ways to assuage his concerns than words.

He gave Anders a reassuring smile, then cradled his neck in his palm, pulled him down, and kissed him. Thoroughly, hands tangling in his hair and tongue taking the time and liberty to explore every last inch of his mouth. Right where they stood, in the middle of the room, just a few feet behind the _Champion_. It might not have been quite the first time the nobility got the chance to see them being intimate with each other, but kissing in the back rows of a dim playhouse had felt nowhere near as public as this.

When he finally let go, the mage peered down at him with a dazed expression, the smile on his face as blissed-out as it was confused.

“Wow...just...wow. I... I didn’t think public displays of affection would really be your thing.”

“Once again, you thought wrong.”

He could feel the soft chuckle rumbling in Anders’ chest as the mage pulled him against him, tucked Fenris’ head snuggly under his chin, and pressed his nose into his hair. “You know, I could just hide my face in here forever…It’s so soft…”

“So I have been told. Once or twice.”

“Mmm, mmm. I wonder by whom.”

“By someone I am proud to call mine. And I will gladly let everyone in this room know I am his.” He drew back slightly, just far enough so he could look into Anders’ eyes. “It is hardly our fault if seeing us like this bothers them. Nor should it be our problem. We could hide, of course. Or we could simply enjoy ourselves. I, for one, am done trying to exist with less offense.”

For a moment, Anders looked as though he was about to burst into tears, but then his expression smoothened into a grin, slowly spreading from ear to ear. “Can we enjoy ourselves _and_ enjoy offending them?”

“I see no reason why not. You are a busy man. There is something to be said for multitasking.”

“Wise as always. And while we’re on the topic of enjoyment...Care to dance with me? It’s been a while since we had the chance.”

“I remember. And yes. Always.”

 

It was just like the last time they’d been dancing. Except that everything was different. How badly he had longed for Anders’ touch back then, how confused he had felt so close to his body, a body he had lain awake imagining countless nights, had ached for as well as shied away from. Now, there was all of the sweetness from before - the mage’s firm embrace, the confidence in his steps as he guided Fenris through the motions - but none of the torture. No more wondering if maybe, _maybe_ , Anders might feel the same about him. Instead, certainty. _Home_. He had come to know his touch, his body, the little twitches in his expression, the coded messages in his inflection, and moving in tune with him no longer felt like something to fear.

It did still feel just as exciting, though. No matter how close they had become or how well he knew him, he could never get enough of Anders’ touch, his breath on his neck, the little crinkles around his eyes when he smiled, the furrows on his forehead when someone looked at Fenris in a way he considered “rude”. Fenris was itching to kiss them away, to kiss _him_ again, and the longer they moved together, just a few inches between them, the more he began to cherish Anders’ initial idea of escaping to their balcony.

Of course, it wasn’t to be. They hadn’t come here alone, after all, and their friends were quick to join them on the dancefloor. Which, since Hawke was among them, meant they soon had all of it to themselves…Not that it really felt that way, trying to evade his flailing limbs and veering arse as well as the pieces of furniture he had once again managed to knock over (an impressive feat given that none of the furniture in the room was anywhere _near_ the dancefloor).

The rest of their group were far more coordinated. At least in theory. No one was save from being grabbed around the waist and spun into a dance with death, also known as their fear- (and rhythm-) less leader. Which was probably the reason Isabela was, for once, staring at them with envy as much as lechery.

“Ah, look at those two. Aren’t they just lovely? All those strong muscles, working together, feet pumping to the rhythm...I bet they look just like that when they _dance_ behind closed doors.”

“I must admit, they do look graceful.” A repeated victim of Hawke’s infamous twirling, Sebastian was swaying slightly, an unusual pallor to his face as he clumsily staggered across the dancefloor, most likely too disoriented to escape. In their quest to evade Hawke’s area of effect, they had nearly knocked him over several times already.

“I don’t think Rivaini was thinking about their ‘grace’, Choirboy.”

“See, Varric knows what I’m talking about.”

“Everyone knows what you’re talking about. Always.” The deadpan expression Fenris had been going for was effectively sabotaged by Varric being catapulted into his back. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a few nobles tutting at them from the side-lines.

Sidestepping Hawke’s grab for his next victim, Isabela winked at them. “And I don’t hear them complaining.”

“Perhaps because you’re too busy talking?”

“Now that’s interesting coming from you... Hey, are you not going to say anything, Fenris? I know he’s your _lover_ , but you can’t pass up an opportunity like this!”

He gave her a shrug, and Anders’ hand a soft squeeze. “Too easy.”

“Oooh, of course. It’s because you’ve found such delicious ways of shutting him up, isn’t it? I can just imagine all the sweaty, glorious details...”

“We shall leave you to it, then.” With a curt nod in her direction, Fenris motioned for Anders to lead them to the far side of the dancefloor, where Aveline was stoically trying to teach Merrill a new set of steps despite being almost knocked off her feet by a bearded blizzard every other minute. You had to hand it to Hawke, he did cover a lot of ground, quickly. What he lacked in elegance, he made up for in speed. And force. Fenris could practically feel Isabela pouting at the back of his head as she called after them, “Spoilsports!”

“I agree. How’s a man to take notes like this? Come on, Blondie, you’re not usually this tight-lipped.” Limping past them with a hand pressed against his lower back, Varric still managed to flash them an impressively broad grin.

“Well, I’m not usually this happy. But I’ll make you an offer: I’ll tell you everything you want to know. If _you_ tell me everything that goes on between you and Bianca. I think that’s fair… don’t you agree, Fenris?” Anders winked at him, lips pursed in an about-to-erupt grin that Fenris had to fight very hard not to kiss right then and there.

He stuck to a solemn nod instead. If the gleam in his eyes betrayed it - well, Varric most likely couldn’t even see it from his current, bent and hobbling angle. “It is. To be clear - we are talking about the crossbow?”

“Of course. What’s more fascinating than the relationship between a man and his weapon? Your constant, loyal companion in the heat of battle...the heat of the night...”

“He does like to fondle it.”

“Who could blame him? Such an elegant construction, all this polished would, those thick bolts, plunging deep into his enemies... A mage can only dream of such lovely, sloping curves. Our weapons are much more straightforward. Not that they don’t have their perks...”

“Eh, thanks Blondie, but the bond between a man and his crossbow is sacred. And I think I’ll head off before I hear more about your staff than I want to...”

“My, Varric, I didn’t think there was any topic for which a ‘more than you want to hear’ even existed!” Anders exclaimed in (probably not entirely) mock surprise as Varric shuffled off towards safety, the hand not supporting his back shaking along with his head. In a much quieter tone, the mage turned his attention back to Fenris. “Well, that was fun….But how about we take a break and get ourselves something to drink? I’d say there’s a good chance Sebastian is going to throw up all over our shoes in the very near future.”

“An excellent idea. And,” Fenris dodged Hawke’s dramatically spread spirit fingers, “certainly a safer course of action.”

They hadn’t even made it fully off the dancefloor when Hawke shimmied into their field of vision, clutching his heart and calling after them. “You’re leaving without saving even a single dance for me? What have I done to deserve this?”

“You want a full list, Hawke? Cause I’m pretty sure I got one.”

“What would I do without my trusted dwarf? Always there to document my many failings. And food-related accidents.”

Fenris didn’t get to listen to the rest of their conversation; jaw set and ears aflame, Anders’ grabbed his sleeve and pulled him along to the refreshments tables.

  

“I can’t believe he asked you to dance with him! Is he serious...?” Anders muttered under his breath as he scanned the various types of appetizers.

“He didn’t specifically ask _me_ ,” Fenris pointed out, “You were leaving as well.”

“Oh, come on. Of course he meant you.”

“You do remember he used to flirt with you too, I hope?” Unfortunately both his raised eyebrow and his amused grin fell flat. While nowhere near back to normal yet, things were, for the most part, alright between him and Hawke. They were, however, not quite so alright between Hawke and Anders.

“Well, I’m not the one he forced himself on. _You_ decide when you’re ready to let him near you again. How could he possibly think that was alright?”

“’Think’ might be the problem here. He often chooses not to.”

“’Often’.” He flung the word out like a projectile wrapped in a snort. “Feeling generous, are you? He never thinks, and he’s still a jealous arse.”

Fenris pulled the mage snug against his hip, raised himself up on his toes and placed a quick kiss on his nose. He didn’t bother hiding the smile in his voice. “And is this not you being jealous as well?”

The response was delivered with a matching expression. “Of course I’m jealous. We both know I’m a hopeless case. But that’s not the point. The point is that you deserve better. You deserve all the good there is in the world, everything you want…and friends who respect you, not someone taking advantage of your loyalty.”

Fenris stretched himself up again, this time aiming for Anders’ lips. “I have everything I want, mage. In case you forgot. And I doubt Hawke really wanted us to dance with him. Often when he talks, I get the feeling he just misses hearing the sound of his own voice. He was just being...Hawke, thinking everything is about him. He usually does. It is something he needs to work on, but I do not think he meant to take advantage. And he will not overstep again, not like that. He knows he was wrong. You know he cares.

“Somewhere between the giant ego and the jealousy, yes, he does care. And I know he’s sorry. But that doesn’t just make everything alright again.”

“No, it does not. Yet he deserves a chance... Like all the chances we gave each other. We would not be here without them.” He smiled up at the mage, who was trying and failing to hide his scowl. “Just last week, I said things I shouldn’t have said. I did you, and your kind, an injustice. And you forgave me. You gave me a chance to make it right. Does he not deserve the same courtesy? Yes, he is flighty. Selfish. No, self-centred. But he has always been there for us. And the thing that made him ask for a dance without considering the implications is the same thing that made him storm a magister’s mansion at the request of a stranger…Or stand against the Templars to help an apostate he’d only just met free his friend.”

“So you’re saying we owe him.”

“No, I am saying he is our friend. Our very foolish friend who needs to learn to do better.” He flashed the still pouting mage a grin. “And I promise you, I will never dance with him.”

Anders eyes widened, an almost panicked expression taking hold of his face as he frantically shook his head. “No, no, Fenris, of course you can dance with him....if you _want_ to. That’s my whole point, you should be the one to initiate it. It should be your choice, not something he tries to guilt you into. Maker, I might be a hopeless case but I’m not that far gone! If I started telling you who you can dance with, or talk to, or spend time with…Andraste be my witness, I’d be the first to advise you to leave my sorry arse.”

“I assure you, that advice would not be needed. I’d be long gone.”

The smile that his words brought to the mage’s lips resembled the one that had settled on Fenris’ face. There was so much tenderness in Anders’ voice, in the way he looked at him…almost too much to bear. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

“So am I.”

They remaining standing like that for a few more minutes just smiling at each other in comfortable silence, while people scurried around them, trying to get past the wall of their bodies blocking most of the table.

“We should find a place to sit and…get comfortable,” Anders said at last, giving Fenris’ shoulder a playful nudge. “Would you help me carry this?”

As it turned out, the mage had somehow managed to fill several plates with large, precariously uneven heaps of food during the course of their conversation, even though his eyes had been on Fenris’ face the whole time. Fenris shook his head at him, but the gesture was one of fondness.

“Of course.”

 

Carefully balancing Anders’ impressive loot, it took them a while to make their way to one of the settees near the window.

“Fenris...” The mage was avoiding his eyes again. Or perhaps he was just busy keeping an eye on the wobbling food on his plates.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for not mentioning all the things you had to give _me_ another chance for…”

“I hurt you too, many times, in ways I am only now beginning to fully understand. I am not without blame, nor am I the only one who had to forgive. I am grateful that you did. That we agreed to leave it behind us.”

Anders nodded, slowly, as if to himself. “Yes, I’m grateful too...” He fell silent for a few steps, then let out a heavy sigh. “I bet my constant insecurity is really attractive to you...”

Fenris held back a snort. As if he were any better... “There is nothing unattractive about knowing you care. I merely wish you were kinder to yourself. You deserve better too.”

“Yet another thing we have in common.” Anders’ smile returned, gradually making its way up to his eyes.

  

They sat down on an empty sofa, equally distributing the plates between them. Comfortably settled back into the cushions and munching on the many delicacies Anders had gathered, they idly observed their friends’ contortions. It was much more fun, not to mention more toe-friendly, to watch Hawke failing at dancing from a safe distance. Loyal friends that they were, however, they kept their laughter and mockery to a respectful minimum. Which might have been mainly due to the fact that they were too busy cuddling to truly pay attention, but Fenris decided it still counted.

They were right in the middle of a not-exactly chaste kiss when Fenris felt a weight sinking into the cushion next to him.

“Ah, I am being granted the pleasure of witnessing another kiss. Not that the first one wasn’t sufficiently spectacular, but who would say no to an encore.”

The voice, a vibrant, slightly rusty timbre, was vaguely familiar, although Fenris couldn’t quite place it. Disentangling himself from Anders with a quiet sigh and loud regret, he turned his head.

“It is lovely to see you again. And I couldn’t help noticing you are actually eating your food, this time, not turning it into projectiles. Dare I say progress?” The gleam in her eyes, that lingering spark of amusement, the gentle, teasing curve of her smirk...she still reminded him of Anders. How long had it been since that banquet? It had to be less than a year, yet it felt like a memory from another life.

From across his shoulder, raised eyebrows condensed into sound asked, “You actually remember us?”

“Of course I remember you.” Still impervious to Anders’ taunts, it would seem, although there was a touch of sombreness in her voice when she added, “I remember everything.” She paused, briefly. When she continued, her old cheerfulness had returned. “And it looks like that’s not the only progress you’ve made. So you’ve left the charade behind and moved on to the real thing. Good for you.”

“You...knew?” Fenris asked after a moment of dumbstruck silence.

“You darling boys, I’m fairly certain I’ve had these shoes longer than you two have been alive. I know stubborn fools when I see them. And when stubborn meets love-struck...” The twinkle in her eyes still reminded him of Anders, but the wicked grin was all Isabela.

Behind him, Anders had regained his voice. And his recalcitrance. “Why did you act like you thought we were a couple then? What was in it for you?”

“A most entertaining performance. And let me tell you, what you admit to yourself has little influence on what ‘is’. That’s where the ‘stubborn’ part comes in… So, just how stubborn are we talking? How many more weeks did it take?”

“Ahem...several months, actually. “ The mage sounded uncharacteristically meek. “We wasted so much time…”

“Now, is that foolish or impressive, I can’t decide. But if it brought you closer, that time was hardly wasted. For someone with so much fire, slow might be the best way to go. We wouldn’t want you to burn out. Yet there is one very important question that still needs answering...”

“Oh? Do tell…” Fenris bit his lip, trying not to smile. Seemed like his mage was back on the defence.

“Is he really packing?”

He’d been wrong; Isabela’s grin had nothing on hers. Fenris remembered how Anders had tried (and failed) to shock her all those months ago. And he remembered himself, blushing profusely and wishing for the ground to open and swallow him. Yet as he sat there now, Anders lost in a fit of hysterical giggling next to him, all he felt was...content. He put his hand on the mage’s knee and flashed her a grin. “He has learned to _adapt_.”

 

They talked a bit more afterwards, idle, inconsequential things, and to Fenris’ surprise, it didn’t take Anders long to start warming up to her. Posture relaxed and smiling, he no longer looked even remotely uncomfortable as they traded playful barbs and gossip. At some point, he even offered her some of his precious food. Fenris let his head rest on the mage’s shoulder, the sound of Anders’ unrestrained, melodic laughter washing over him. Finally, Anders was at ease, and Fenris could allow himself to relax, safe where he belonged. With Anders. And, he realized with a smile as he let his gaze wander around the room, with that small group of people still wrecking the dancefloor. As long as he was with them, at Anders’ side, even the strangest place could feel like home.

 

 

“Admit it, you like her.” Fenris gave the still chuckling mage a playful nudge in the ribs. Much as neither of them had liked having to leave their cosy little bubble, at some point it had become impossible to (believably) ignore Merrill’s excited waving, so they had bid their farewells, heaved themselves back to their feet and were now making their way through the bustling crowd to the far side of the room, where some of their friends had gathered, Hawke still bouncing around on his toes, Merrill and Aveline slumped on a sofa.

“Yes. But I have decided to stay with you anyway,” Anders replied, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his upper lip.

“You are generous.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

That smooth, mock-haughty timbre… Was it odd to want to lick a voice? Not for the first time, Fenris wished he could kiss it, taste it, wrap it all around himself. And once again, he had to settle for kissing the mage’s lips instead.

 

“Ah, there you are!” Merrill jumped off her seat, clasping her hands together with a bright smile on her face as they stepped up to them. “I didn’t bother you, did I? Hawke said we should all have a drink together, and be loud and obnoxious, because that’s what people expect from us and we shouldn’t let them down. I thought you might want to be loud too? Anders has been so quiet tonight…And we haven’t really been together, not all of us, like we used to. Have you seen Isabela? Or Varric? I think they hid among some servants earlier, but they didn’t tell me where they were going, and Sebastian had to lie down for a bit, and Aveline..."

“...is being a grouch,” Hawke gave Aveline’s shoulder a friendly, if slightly too forceful, clap. Turning back to Merrill, he added, “Could you try to find the others? I doubt the present, grumpy company will be enough to liven things up. Excluding you, of course. You, my bubbly ray of light, put the ‘sun’ in Sundermount.”

His elaborate bow had Merrill darting off with a giggling salute. Aveline, however, threw him a glare that should, by all rights, have sliced him in two.

“I am not ‘grouching’, I am resting my feet. Because _someone_ stepped on them. Repeatedly.”

“Slander and accusations, and from my oldest friend no less. And you two,” he turned his attention on them, still shaking his head for dramatic emphasis, “abandoning me for your fancy friends, I see how it is. You seemed quite cosy over there…Guess that answers the question if you know the woman.”

Anders made a show of rolling his eyes in the most exaggerated way possible. “She’s not ‘the woman’, she’s... Oh, we still haven’t asked her name. Wait, do _you_ know her?”

Hawke’s brow furrowed. “Well, yes, of course. I deliver most of the shipments for your clinic, and since at least half of them are donated by her...”

“Wait, _what_? I thought those were from you?”

“Some of them, sure, but you always complain when I ’go overboard with my gifts’. I’ve learned my lesson...”

“Now that would be a first.” It was muttered just quietly enough for Hawke not to hear.

“I told you they were from an anonymous benefactor...I thought that was the codename you two had agreed on? I mean, she did know all about your clinic and its reliance on donations when she asked me to pass them on to you, so…”

“ _So_ a woman you never met before comes to you and inquires about my clinic, you know the illicit, _secret_ , once, and you just said ‘sure’ without consulting me or finding that even the slightest bit odd??”

“I’m pretty sure she’s not a Templar, Anders. And I doubt there’s a single noble in town I haven’t ‘met before’, much as I wish there was. And to be clear: when she first mentioned you and your clinic, I _did_ say I had no idea what she was talking about. All that did was make her laugh in my face and lecture me that if I wanted to survive in Hightown, I needed to become a better liar, and quickly.”

Anders stared at him, anger giving way to confusion. “That...that makes no sense. How would she know? And why in the Maker’s name would she care? And even assuming she does - why wouldn’t she just come to _me_?”

Hawke shrugged, showing his usual lack of interest in the finer details. “Perhaps it has something to do with your trusting and welcoming attitude? Don’t ask me, I was as surprised as you are. When she first mentioned your name, I was certain she’d come to complain you had affronted her in some way. I was expecting to be hilariously entertained while lying my arse off in ‘sympathy’. Kicked in the head by a Bronto, too much Orlesian food, suffering from mud-syndrome - a common Ferelden disease, very tragic… I had so many explanations for your lack of manners at the ready, and I never even got to use them! She just waved off my apologies, said she was looking for sincerity, not charm. Can you imagine my disappointment? I send you two out to screw with people, and not only do you take the ‘screw’ part much too literally, you also make friends with the nobles you were supposed to annoy.”

Fenris couldn’t help wondering if Hawke’s exaggerated pout was truly just for show. If Anders was still troubled by Hawke, it wasn’t too far-fetched to assume Hawke still had some lingering issues with their relationship as well. But unlike the mage’s, Hawke’s feelings weren’t his problem, and Fenris wasn’t going to let him get away with teasing them just yet. He didn’t mind it too much when the others did it - “we mock because we care” was a valid sentiment within their group - but Hawke had yet to earn back that privilege.

“As I believe we have already informed you, we can multi-task. And we are _flexible_. Skills you might want to practice too.” All that earned him a slightly bigger pout from Hawke, and uncharacteristic silence from Anders, whose expression was still one of utter confusion. Well, if neither of them was going to address the truly important issue here - a potential, if admittedly rather unlikely, threat to Anders - _he_ would. “What else did she say? Do you meet with her regularly? Where? Does she know the clinic’s location? Was she alone? Do you know her associates? Has she asked any other questions? _Think_ , Hawke.”

Hawke’s pout was replaced by something more akin to genuine annoyance. “You do remember that both my father and sister were mages, I hope? Do you honestly think I didn’t have her followed, or didn’t pay attention to what she said, when it involved my _apostate_ friend, you know, the one I’ve been successfully keeping out of the Gallows for years...”

“ _You_ have...”

Hawke ignored the mage’s indignant snort. “...with a little help from Varric.”

“Credit where it’s due, Hawke.”

“...and Aveline,” he conceded, shooting Anders a look. “You’re not exactly subtle, at least not when it comes to yourself. The mage underground, you guard like a revenant, but your own safety is apparently of little importance to you. ‘Secret’ clinic my arse. _You_ may not accept my coin but trust me, most Templars will happily pocket it. So to address your concerns, Fenris,” his head swivelled around, eyes narrowing, “I do not meet her regularly, nor would I ever be stupid enough to divulge your whereabouts - not that she couldn’t find out from every drunkard in town if she wanted to. The donations are delivered to my estate, and _I_ am the one who then drops them off at the clinic. Which you both know, or would know, if you weren’t too busy playing us against the world. I have only met her once, _alone_ , in my library, and as far as my inquiries revealed, she doesn’t have any associates. It seems she just genuinely cares about healing sick people, I am sorry to disappoint. Satisfied, or do you need me to check every bandage Anders has used in the past year for poison or intricate tracking spells?”

Behind him, Fenris could faintly hear Aveline mutter, “I don’t know why I even let you get me involved in this.”

He cleared his throat, trying not to shift under Hawke’s stare. “Yes. That is…satisfactory. And I apologise. I did not mean to imply that you would endanger Anders, nor that you do not go out of your way to protect him. To protect us all,” he added with a nod at Aveline, remembering changed duty rosters and reports she kept denying she had made disappear. “Yet you should have told Anders.”

As usual, Hawke’s anger seemed to dissolve as quickly as it had built. There was even a touch of contrition in the smile that he flashed first him, then Anders. “You’re right, now that I think about it, I should have mentioned it. But well, we didn’t spend that much time together back then and with the way she talked about you...I honestly thought you two knew each other well.”

“I'm glad to hear her remarking on my lack of charm convinced you of that.” Also as usual, the mage’s mood didn’t improve quite so quickly.

“It didn’t. Her saying that anger and stubbornness are our best hope for change, did, however.”

“She said that?” Not for the first time, Fenris instinctively turned his head to look for her, if only to once again confirm that she had long disappeared somewhere among the other guests.

“Yes, or something like it, at least...and something about cowards and shadows and nurturing flames...or, I don’t know, she likes it cryptic. She also claimed I reminded her of my father, and that without him, her brother’s fate would never have been revealed. I have no idea what she could possibly mean by that, my parents left Kirkwall almost immediately after his escape, but as I said, straight-forwardness doesn’t seem to be her style.”

Next to him, the mage had gone rigid. If he had looked puzzled at the start of their conversation, he looked downright incredulous now. “Seriously, Hawke, you have no idea what she could _possibly_ mean by that?” When he got nothing but a furrowed brow in reply, he rolled his eyes again, clucking his tongue in obvious annoyance. “The Circle, you utter leak-brain. You know, the place your father had to escape _from_? You think your family is the only one with loved ones dragged there? Once you’re in the Circle, your parents never hear from you again. If your family has the coin, you might be able to bribe someone to smuggle letters. With _really_ powerful connections, you might even get official approval for occasional - _monitored_ \- correspondence, but even in those rare cases, it can stop any time if someone gets caught, or betrays you, or the Templars suddenly decide you’re not loyal enough. And if a mage is killed or made tranquil, their family usually never finds out.” The more he talked, the more his voice rose in volume. Wordlessly, Fenris sidled up to him and placed an arm around his waist, squeezing tightly. This was not the place to mention mages and Templars at quite this volume. Anders seemed to understand the meaning behind the gesture, in any case he hesitated briefly, before adding, in a more subdued tone. “I bet that’s what happened to her brother. Just another mage that quietly disappeared, long dead while his family still prayed for his return. Your father must have told her...however they met...”

Fenris gave his waist another, gentler squeeze. “When we first met her, she said she was a friend of your mothers, Hawke. She offered her condolences.” It lasted but a fraction of a second, but there it was again, that vast, all-encompassing hurt in Hawke’s eyes. The guilt that nothing, no gentle word or reassurance could alleviate. Nevertheless, Fenris softened his voice. “She spoke highly of her. And of you, too. I assume that was the connection.”

It took Hawke a brief moment, one firm blink, to expel the abyss from his eyes, to bring his usual, if now slightly too bright, joviality back onto his face. “Ah, old family stories...I guess we’ll never know. We could ask her, of course, but I wouldn’t want to put her on the spot - what if this was all just part of some grand scheme to get into Anders’ pants? Better watch out before she whisks away your boyfriend, Fenris. You know better than anyone how hard it is to resist his roguish charm... And never underestimate the allure of a box full of bandages...”

“Very funny, Hawke.” Perhaps it was for the best that Fenris could not lick the mage’s voice. Right now, that would have been about as wise as licking a lamppost in winter. Anders crossed his arms in front of his chest, an equal amount of frost in his expression. “This isn’t just some fling, you know. Which s _he_ could tell five minutes after first meeting us, by the way. How is it that _you_ can’t? Or do you simply not want to?”

Hawke’s eyebrows met, pressed down and together by the deep creases forming on his forehead. “I was joking, Anders. I know it would take at least two boxes of bandages to persuade you to elope with her.”

“Hawke.” Aveline’s admonishment sounded more like an exasperated sigh than like the sharp bark they’d grown accustomed to, yet it seemed to have the same effect. Shoulders sagging ever so slightly, Hawke bit his lip. “Believe me, I’m perfectly aware that you two are serious. I’ve known since the day I walked in on you. Fenris wouldn’t use the word ‘love’ to talk about a fling. I _was_ joking. I know no one could come between you. And for the record, I have no intention of trying.”

Fenris readied himself for Anders to explode into a tirade, but all that followed was a (tortuously) long moment of tense silence. And then, a brief nod.

“I see.” With that, the mage seemed to be done with Hawke. He turned to Fenris instead, expression as blank as his voice. “I need to speak with you.”

“Of course...” He barely managed to add, “Please excuse us for a moment,” before Anders gabbed his hand and made off towards the other end of the room, with so much determination he might have actually dragged him behind had Fenris not quickened his steps. The mage steered them through the throng of guests without saying another word, entirely focussed on his destination, which, as Fenris soon realized, appeared to be the safe haven of their balcony.

 

As he followed him through the large glass doors, Fenris couldn’t help feeling slightly apprehensive. Though they’d been relatively tame, it was obvious that Hawke’s jokes had managed to upset the mage, and Fenris couldn’t claim to be looking forward to discussing the matter again. There wasn’t really anything more to be said. Hawke knew where they stood, and where _he_ stood. If Anders needed to talk, Fenris would of course listen, but they’d been over it less than an hour ago and...

It turned out that while the mage did have plans for his mouth, they didn’t involve _talking_. Fenris only just managed to close the doors behind them before Anders practically slammed him into the wall, lips seeking his in a kiss full of passion and....salt?

Startled, Fenris pulled back. Yes, there were tears on Anders’ face, tiny rivulets leading from the corners of his eyes down to his stubble, his lashes glistening in the moonlight. Fenris stared at him in alarm, yet he could detect no distress in the sniffling chuckle that bubbled out of Anders throat as he dabbed at them with his sleeve.

“You told him it was love. That it was _me_. You were ready to tell the world right after our first night.”

“No. I was ready for that right after our first kiss.”

The quirk of his lips was met with a low groan. “Maker, and now you’re doing that smooth-thing again. Alright, we need to leave. I don’t care if it’s rude, I want you. _Now_.”

Stretching his body languidly against the wall, Fenris let the quirk turn into a smirk. “Then why bother leaving first?”

“You mean...here?” The mage’s voice was hovering somewhere between scandalized and intrigued.”

“It is what we have come to refer to as ‘our balcony’, is it not?”

“But...we can’t. There’s hardly any room to... People will see us.” Despite his objections, Anders’ tone left little doubt that “intrigued” was gaining the upper hand.

“As you have taught me, there are many ways to do this.”

This time, his grin was returned without hesitation. “Mmm, you have a fair point. There _are_ a lot of fun things we could do out here.” Anders pressed a little closer, letting his tongue trail along the line of Fenris’ jaw. “But you know how impatient Hawke gets. What if he sends Merrill to fetch us again and she walks right in on us...?”

“I assume she’ll be delighted.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	29. Chapter 29

“And so you win again,” Anders said, raising his arms above his head in a gesture of defeat. “You are utterly without mercy.”

“Need I remind you it was you who insisted we play _this_ game, even though you always lose?”

“Yes, because one day, _one_ day, I will beat you, and it will be a glorious victory, a tale minstrels will be writing songs about well into the next age. Just you wait!”

“I am shivering in anticipation. And fear.”

“Well, good. You should be. So, one last round?”

“I am tired, mage…”

Grinning, Anders leaned across the table, the twitch of his lips nothing short of devious. “I know.”

With a sigh and a firm shake of the head (more on principle than out of actual frustration), Fenris began to rearrange the pieces on the board. Given Anders’ complete lack of skill, arguing would no doubt take longer than simply wiping the floor with him. And, he thought as he flashed the mage an evil grin of his own, it would also be less fun.

 

Playing a few rounds before going to bed, comfortably nestled against each other on the floor in front of the fireplace or sitting at the table with a bottle of wine and a pastry between them, had become something of a tradition ever since Anders had surprised him with a clumsily wrapped package one evening.

“I saw this on the market yesterday, and it made me think of you… I thought you might enjoy it, there’s a lot of planning and strategy involved. I haven’t played it in a long time, and back then, I always lost to Karl.” (Fenris was starting to see a pattern there.) “But it was fun. I could teach you…I mean, if you want to…”

Fenris did. He wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with the game, having stood guard while Danarius played it with his guests countless times, and while he only had a vague understanding of the rules, it didn’t take him long to pick up the rest. Anders didn’t seem surprised when Fenris managed to beat him after less than one day of training, but he did sigh in frustration.

“Looks like I’m in for an endless row of losses again…”

 

His luck changed when, a few weeks later, Fenris happened upon a game that just screamed _Anders_. Not only was the mage overjoyed when Fenris handed it to him (“For me? Really?”), playing it also helped drastically improve his mood - whether it was due to the game being a better fit for his skills, or because the tiny wooden cats chasing each other across a colourful board gave him extra motivation, Anders won far more often than Fenris.

Most of the other games Fenris had bought for him since then (including, amongst others, cats and mice, heap of kittens, four kittens in a row and the botanist’s bouquet) also seemed to favour Anders. Fenris didn’t mind losing all that much, though, not when Anders smiled like _this_ , full of joy, and somehow surprised long after he should have come to expect them, every time Fenris handed him another gift. There was something about him in these moments, a joy as fragile as it was unbridled, something that filled Fenris with an odd sense of gratitude, a deep hum of happiness that was even greater than the one he felt when Anders surprised him with a new book they could work through together. Seeing the mage like this made it more than worth having to listen to his friends’ endless taunts.

“Why is it that we always end up at the toy vendor when we buy gifts for your lover? And not even the _fun_ kind of toys…”

Well, not always. The pastry stall was also a frequent destination.

Anders kept all his games at Fenris’ mansion, insisting they were safer there and that it was more convenient anyway, since they only played them together. It made sense, Fenris supposed, considering the mage spent roughly half his nights at his place, yet there was something about it that irked him, something he had been wondering about for quite a while now. Earlier that day, he’d finally found the courage to bring it up.

 

He’d gone to the clinic so Justice could repeat the ritual to absorb his lyrium’s excess energy. The pain had only just begun to occasionally flare up again, yet as he had promised, he’d told Anders at the first signs of discomfort. Of course the mage had insisted they repeat the ritual as soon as possible.

While Fenris couldn’t deny he still had some lingering reservations about the process, the whole thing had gone smoothly. Remarkably so, in fact. Not only had Justice been as calm and soft-spoken as the first time, he’d even…talked to him. It was still a bit unsettling to look at Anders yet not see his eyes, but…not quite as unsettling as before. The spirit wasn’t exactly a master at casual conversation (although to be fair, neither was Fenris), but he seemed genuinely interested in what Fenris had to say.

With the pain not being that intense, the effect hadn’t been as overwhelming as the first time, but relief had still flooded him, leaving him in a state of bliss - and bone-deep, throbbing exhaustion. He’d told Anders as much, asking if they could perhaps just go to bed early.

“Of course,” the mage said with a smile, “we can leave right away, cleaning can wait until tomorrow.”

Perhaps it was the renewed sense of calmness after whatever it was exactly that Justice had done with his brands, or perhaps he was simply to exhausted too second guess himself. Either way, Fenris decided to finally ask.

“We always stay at the mansion. Is there a reason you never let me spend the night here, mage?”

“Well, yes, it’s more comfortable. These cots aren’t exactly made for two.”

“The…cots?” Fenris couldn’t blame his prolonged blink on just his exhaustion.

“Yes.”

“You...sleep on them? Where sick people lay just hours before?”

“More like ‘just a minute before’, usually, but yes. Look around you. Where else did you think I slept? Besides, I hope you remember we created some rather spectacular first time memories on this one right over there. Only my favourite patients are allowed to use it now.”

Fenris turned his head, scanning the room for what he realized he already knew.

“You have no place for yourself here. Not even a corner, or a simple bed. Nothing.” Venhedis, how had he never thought about this? He’d been a bodyguard; he had been trained to pay attention, to _notice_ things. And usually, he did. Just not when it came to the man at his side, apparently. He turned his gaze back on Anders, frowning. “Why not? The room is big enough.”

Anders merely shrugged. “I guess I never considered the possibility I’d stay here long enough to justify trying to make a home for myself. But I don’t exactly see you making use of that giant mansion either. You only ever really use one room, and even that hardly shows any signs of you actually living there.”

Fenris had to admit that was true - although not as true as it used to be. A shelf of books that had been bought specifically for him, by Anders, for the most part, yet some were gifts from Hawke, Varric - or Isabela (he especially enjoyed Anders reading him _those_ ); a pile of fancy clothes courtesy of Hawke big enough to cover an entire armchair; their steadily growing collection of games; the bow Sebastian kept insisting he should learn to use (“Sometimes, it is wiser to strike from a distance”); the “sensible armour” Aveline had commissioned for him (“Just a suggestion”); the quilt the witch had made for him during his first winter in Kirkwall, which he’d never admit he liked to snuggle underneath to anyone but Anders… all of those were signs of him. They were _his_ things. The first ones he truly owned. They might only be traces, baby steps of his claiming the house for himself, but it wasn’t nothing.

And neither was Anders’ presence, lighting up not just the room but the entire estate, turning it from a house into a home. Even when he wasn’t there, when it was only an empty mug, a bit of burnt pie crust or a half-finished game that reminded Fenris that he would return. He wanted Anders to have this too. A small chest of personal belongings shoved against a wall in the corner wasn’t enough; he wanted him to wake up to Fenris’ scent on the sheets even after a night spent apart, to catch himself smiling at a spare tunic thrown carelessly over the back of a chair, knowing its owner would be with him again soon.

The thought wouldn’t leave him alone, nagging him all the way through Darktown and back to his mansion, and it was still at the back of his mind even now, as he placed his first piece in a bold move, prepared to ruthlessly crush the mage and then drag him off to bed for some much needed sleep.

 

Which was why the next morning, after Anders had left for the clinic, Fenris found himself reluctantly making his way to the Alienage, approaching a house he’d been to many times, yet never on his own.

Feeling more than a bit uncomfortable, he still lifted his hand and knocked, determined to push through. For Anders.

There was no reply.

His second round of hesitant rapping against the door got no reaction either, and he was just about to leave when suddenly, the door flung wide open without so much as a warning.

A hasty stream of words washed over him. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I was trying to work out a spell and I got a bit distracted…I didn’t realize someone was knocking, I thought it might have been the rats. It’s so nice of you to visit…” Her bright smile was replaced with a slightly furrowed brow when her eyes finally landed on his face. “Oh…Fenris?”

Well. Best to get straight to the point. “Witch, I have a question.”

“For me? Creators, what happened?”

“I, ahem, have been wondering if you could help me make Anders’ clinic more like…a home.”

He’d initially considered approaching Hawke or Aveline, but the more Fenris had thought about it, the more Merrill had seemed like the best person to ask. Her house might not have been much compared to Anders’ spacious clinic, not to mention Fenris’ mansion, yet it was more of a home than either of those. They merely resided in their respective places, with hardly a mark and no discernible connection, whereas she had managed to make her little shack feel cosy, _personal_ , only weeks after moving in. Of course, as a former nomad, Merrill was used to creating a home out of nothing. And she’d spent all her life among her clan, her family, with a sense of belonging he and the mage could only dream of. It was hardly surprising that she’d have more of an idea what a “home” actually entailed. Or perhaps she simply had the courage to claim a place for herself despite knowing it could be taken away from her at any moment.

In any case, she was the person best equipped to understand Anders’ situation, but that didn’t make asking her for help any more pleasant.

He hastily added a mumbled, “If it is not too much trouble, of course.”

The smile returned to her face, her hands gesturing excitedly. “Oh, yes, it would be so lovely for Anders to have a real home. His place looks so dismal. There's nothing green in Darktown, no wonder everyone's always so cross and yelling at us. We’ll make it look pretty, and lively, just like his coat. He’ll be so happy.”

“Thank you for your help. It is...unexpected.”

She gave him a confused look. “Of course I'll help. We're a clan, Fenris.”

He tried hard not to visibly gnash his teeth. She was offering to help, after all. “We are not a ‘clan’ just because we are both elves.”

This seemed to greatly amuse her. “Not you and I. All of us. Aveline and Varric and Hawke and Donnic and Sebastian and…” A dreamy look crept on her face. “…Isabela…and you and Anders. We are our own little clan, and a clan sticks together.”

“Funny, your _other_ clan must not have heard of that rule. Then again, you got your keeper killed.” A part of him instantly regretted the words. It was the same part that had felt flustered at her words – and immediately been overruled by the rest of him.

It was a tiny change, barely noticeable to anyone but her frien…people who were familiar with her, but something in her face set. She nodded, a curt, business-like gesture.

“We should check the market, I’m sure we’ll find lots of things for Anders there.” She wasn’t precisely unfriendly as she ushered him out of the way and locked the door behind her, but her tone displayed none of her usual excessive enthusiasm.

They walked through the Alienage in uncomfortable silence. Fenris kept trying to quell the feeling of unease in his gut. What he had said was true. Why should he feel guilty because of her foolish meddling with dangerous magic? Besides, having her quiet for once was a blessing for sure, so he had no idea just why he would breathe a sigh of relief when she finally started to talk again.

 

By the time they reached the market square, her annoying bubbliness had returned. Noticeably more so when the conversation revolved around a certain pirate.

“You really like her,” Fenris said, smiling despite himself.

“Yes.” She giggled. “And I love her, too.”

For once, it was not spite that prompted him to point out. “She is also with Hawke.”

“Yes, of course, because she loves us both. She has a big heart.” More giggles. “Of course, she has a lot of room for it. She’s so pretty, isn’t she? And so funny and kind and strong, and she's led such an exciting life and she knows so many stories…”

“An ‘exciting life’ is what people who never had to fight like we did call it. You have no idea what you are talking about. You had a home and the life we could only dream of, and you threw it away for _adventure_. You know nothing of what that truly means.”

She took his snapping in stride, this time.

“I didn't leave for adventure Fenris, I left because I wanted to restore something that was taken from us. From _all_ of us. From you too, even if you know nothing of what that truly means.”

He wasn’t sure how to reply to that, so he stuck to murmuring a few half-hearted phrases about “foolishness” “traipsing through dirt” and “feet in the past, head in the clouds”. Merrill didn’t seem to be paying attention anyway; she was too preoccupied dragging him along to a vendor offering cloth and drapes in more colours than any sane person could ever need. Truth be told, he didn’t mind. The way her eyes sparkled whenever Isabela’s name was mentioned was too much of a reminder of the reason they had come here to make him want to waste his time debating her inane reasoning. This was about putting the same happiness on Anders’ face, and Fenris wouldn’t let anything get in the way of that.

 

Annoying as she might be, enlisting Merrill’s help turned out to have been the right choice. It was a bit of a challenge to keep up with her constantly flitting train of thought (or, in fact, her physical flitting from one vendor to the next....to the next…), but on the plus side, he certainly couldn’t complain about a lack of ideas. Or, for that matter, an unwillingness to listen to his wishes. She never seemed to mind when he dismissed one of her ideas, simply offering three new ones instead, and it didn’t take them long to come up with a basic plan for what Anders’ new home and improved clinic should look like.

They were equally quick to realize that Fenris would have to ask Varric for help with the logistics. They couldn’t get everything required at the market. Moreover, Fenris needed people who could be trusted with delivering the larger items to the clinic - which meant he needed the dwarf’s connections. They _could_ , however, get the decorative objects, fabrics and plants Merrill had suggested, and they soon had their arms (and various bags slung over their backs or tied to their waists) full of things Fenris hoped Anders would like.

He was browsing the wares of a stall that specialized in little figurines and paintings when Merrill asked, completely out of the blue yet as casually as if she’d offered him a piece of cake, “Why doesn’t Anders live with you?”

“Why don’t _you_ live with Isabela?” He hadn’t meant to snap at her. She’d merely caught him off guard. He hastened to add, in a placating tone, “I apologise. I know it is not possible because of…her and Hawke.”

“Oh, no, Hawke said we could both live there if we wanted to, he has a lot of empty rooms. He says it’s safer than the Alienage, and he wouldn’t want Isabela to worry about me. But,” she nudged his ribs with her elbow…not quite as gently as she probably thought, “I think he’s the one who worries. There’s no need to, I hardly ever get lost anymore and it’s…more like home here. Hightown is so full of stone, and walls. And Isabela likes living in a tavern, she says it’s more fun than a dreary old mansion. Perhaps it reminds her of a ship? She’s used to sailors and interesting people and the nobles…they’re a bit dull, aren’t they? Not Hawke, of course! But I don’t think Anders really likes Darktown…Wouldn’t he be happier living with you?”

_Would_ Anders be happier living in his mansion? He seemed to prefer staying with him to sleeping in his clinic…yet he also always insisted on returning there eventually, and not just to treat his patients. He still spent about half his nights and most of his days in Darktown. Perhaps it would be different if he had his things at the mansion, and a place to work on his…cause.

Fenris couldn’t claim the thought wasn’t tempting. To have Anders around more often, to spend less time missing him and, most importantly, to know he’d be there every night, safe at his side… Yet it would also mean he’d no longer have a place that was his, a door he could close when he needed to take a step back, reassure himself that he was free, his own man, setting his own boundaries. As much as he wanted Anders with him, at all times, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to fully, _officially_ , share that precious little corner of the world he had carved out for himself, where no one could make demands of him or tell him what to do, just yet.

Perhaps it was better to start slowly (that should be to the mage’s tastes, after all)…not yet a house that belonged to both of them, but…s _omething_ that did.

He gave the witch a shrug. “Where he lives is of little significance. He will keep falling asleep in the clinic, right on top of his manifesto, anyway.”

“Yes, he sometimes has ink all over his face…” Merrill said, sounding like she was about to choke on her own chuckle. “Oh, we should get him a nicer washstand...”

And off she ran to find a suitable merchant. Happy to change the subject, Fenris let her pull him along.

 

Fenris stood at the clinic’s entrance, allowing himself a moment to take stock of what still needed to be done. Not much, as it turned out. Isabela, who had insisted on accompanying Merrill to “lend a hand”, was almost finished rearranging the cots in the new “clinic area”, and Merrill had started stocking the shelves in what was to be the mage’s new kitchen and dining space. Once everything was set up there, all that was left was some decorating. And perhaps a bit of sweeping…Not that it would do much good on Darktown’s dirt floor, but it was worth a shot. Satisfied, he nodded to himself. Everything would be ready in time for Anders’ return.

Varric had taken the mage to the Hanged Man for drinks and cards with a few of the regulars, promising to keep him there long enough to give them sufficient time to finish redecorating. Ever resourceful, the dwarf had also arranged for the new furniture to arrive right after Anders was out of sight, and sent some of his guys (“friends of a friend of a cousin, reliable fellows, no need to start brooding”) to help them built a separate bedroom at the far end of the clinic. Admittedly, three of its four “walls” were actually just very high fences, making it little more than a crude shed without a roof, but it _did_ have a door, and the lack of a roof meant there would always be light coming in from above. Anders wouldn’t feel trapped. It wasn’t like a cell. No one could lock him inside; he’d be able to climb out just by standing on his bed. His _new_ bed that was big enough to comfortably fit two people, not that Fenris had any ulterior motives. The mage’s freshly-built private quarters also had enough space for a small shelf, his chest of personal belongings and a comfortable armchair, all of which Fenris had already carried inside.

Although he’d initially been reluctant to accept help from strangers, Fenris had to admit that without it, they wouldn’t have managed to set it all up so quickly, if at all. Hawke might have had some experience with this sort of work from his old life in Ferelden, but Fenris had decided not to get him involved. He had no doubt Hawke would have agreed to help, instantly and most likely with great enthusiasm; he would, however, also have insisted on paying for everything and started to add presents of his own. Which was, in itself, not necessarily a bad thing, but…Fenris wanted this to be _his_ gift. Getting a little help from his friends was one thing, yet he felt the bulk of the work and coin should come from him.

“Well, look what we’ve done with the place.” In his musings, he hadn’t noticed Isabela sidling up to him. She inclined her head towards the row of colourful cat paintings on the wall above the cots. “Who would have thought you had an eye for decoration underneath all that spiky tension.”

“Not all of it was my idea.”

“Oh, I know. Kitten was very excited about it all.”

He nodded. “She was a great help.”

“Well, that’s Merrill for you, always there for everyone. When she’s not busy getting people killed, of course.”

His head whipped around but Isabela didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“You know, _she_ didn't get her Keeper killed, that old hag did that all by herself when she tried to take away her freedom. Yes,” she talked over his protest, waving him off impatiently, “our choices are our freedom too. Kitten knows what she’s doing. She was willing to take the risk, and she came prepared, but Grandma Big-Talk just had to prove she knew better. And guess what, she didn’t. _That’s_ what killed her.”

He huffed a noncommittal reply.

She leaned against the doorframe, cocking her head as she slowly looked him over. “You have such pretty eyes.”

“My…eyes - again?”

“Kitten has pretty eyes too. I hate it when they fill with tears. And I have a feeling you might soon find you don’t like it either. I may have to get her replacements.” The dagger in her hand was only marginally more intimidating than the one in her smile. “Now where could I find them, I wonder...Perhaps you can think of something.”

She fixed him with a long, unflinching stare, then turned on her heel and sauntered of to help Merrill move the chairs without sparing him another glance.

He wasn’t trembling, no. Yet had he been the kind of person who trembled…he would have been.

 

The rest of the work was quickly dealt with, in no small way thanks to Merrill and Isabela, who were an efficient, well-attuned and not to forget very hands-on team.

By the time Fenris had finally decided on the optimal way to arrange the table and chairs in the mage’s new kitchen area, they’d already carried them over, put them in place, dusted them off, added some cushions to the chairs and a cover and flowers to the table.

“Don’t fret, sweet thing, you can always push everything a few inches in whichever direction you prefer. And your lanky lover is going to upset your precious order within minutes anyway.” Taking pity on his scandalized expression, Isabela let her laughter ebb away and put her hand on his shoulder in a firm, soothing grip. “Trust me, you don’t have to worry about making it perfect. It’s from _you_ , he’ll love it.”

You had to hand it to Isabela, once she’d said her piece, she wasn’t the type to hold grudges (at least so long as you, to use her words, didn’t “fuck up again”). And apparently, for all the other unflattering things you could say about her, neither was Merrill.

“Oh yes, he’ll be so happy when he sees all the cats. And when he sees you. He always smiles when you enter a room. He’s so much less grumpy now.”

They were probably right, but that didn’t stop him from flitting about the room, straightening and cleaning things that needed neither straightening nor cleaning. When he started debating changing the order of the paintings for the third time in as many minutes, his friends excused themselves.

“Everything looks so lovely, Fenris. Can you manage the rest yourself? We have an important…meeting…”

“Also, we just don’t want to be here any longer. Give magic-boy our love. And don’t forget to tell us how _grateful_ he was.”

He only just managed to thank them for their help and promise them a round (“Just one?”) on him in the Hanged Man later before they were out the door and out of sight. Well, not quite out of sight. The moment they reached the little nook next to the stairs leading deeper into the bowels of Darktown, Merrill slammed Isabela into the wall with a giggle that could be heard all the way to the clinic. Soon after, they had turned into an entangled heap of twisting heads and roaming hands. Judging from the heat in their kisses (and his own memories of Anders, dark alleys and the insurmountable need to hold him in his arms _right now_ ), there was a good chance they’d still be there by the time Anders returned. Unless they decided they had to get to one of their respective homes _immediately_ , another scenario Fenris was perfectly familiar with. Either way, it was probably best to close the door and give them some privacy. They didn’t seem to mind the beggars lurking in the corner a few feet away, but he had a feeling his watching wouldn’t be quite as welcome…not to mention that it made him miss Anders in ways that were, at this very moment, highly inconvenient.

After one last check of the room (and then, two more), Fenris picked up one of Anders’ books to help distract him and sat down in one of his new, high back chairs to await the mage’s return. It shouldn’t be long now but, knowing Varric’s proclivity to elaborate, it could just as well be a few more hours.

 

“You…you did all of this…for me?”

Well, at least he was talking again, instead of standing in the doorway, mouth agape, as he had been for the past several minutes.

Had Fenris not been so nervous about the whole thing, the way Anders had frozen in place the moment he opened the door would have been nothing short of hilarious.

“I had help, but yes. Do you…like it? I asked Varric to hold on to your old furniture for a few days. If I overstepped, tell me, and we will put everything back the way it was before. I will not be offended. This is your home, you should feel comfortable here...”

“No, _no_ ,” Anders was quick to assure him, “I love it. But, all this…it must have been so much work!”

He gestured at the new furniture (much more comfortable than his old rickety stuff, yet sturdy and relatively plain - anything that actually looked expensive would only attract robbers), the pictures and flowers, the colourful blankets and pillows Merrill had placed on the patients’ beds. They’d moved all the cots to the front of the room in order to create an obvious distinction between the actual clinic and Anders’ personal space. It did mean the pallets stood closer together than before, yet clearing out the rubble and broken gear at the opposite side of the room had provided them with additional space, where a handful of them now stood at larger intervals so patients who had to stay the night would have some privacy. Merrill had suggested putting up some curtains between them, but Fenris had decided against it, as he wasn’t sure if Anders needed to be able to keep an eye on his patients. They could still add them later, should the mage like the idea. He had, however, agreed to setting up a few chairs where patients, or their loved ones, could sit. The washbowl and Anders’ little shrine had both been moved next to this new waiting area, and Merrill had added a small crate decorated with flowers and a wooden halla – “Hawke gave it to me, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind. I know we can’t have altars to our Gods here, but surely no one will we be bothered by a halla? We have something similar in the healer’s house in Darktown. Did you see it when you were there with Anders?” He had, and while he failed to see why such a thing should be useful, it seemed harmless enough, so he’d let her set it up.

Anders smiled as his gaze fell upon it. He was walking up to Fenris, taking in the robust, freshly-stocked shelves, his desk, still in its old place but scrubbed clean, neatly organized and adorned with Merrill’s ubiquitous flowers, his food and kitchenware, now at the other side of the room next to a new fire pit and table and, across from it, another washstand, propped against the wall of his new…

“What’s this?”

“I suggest you look inside and find out.”

Throwing him a dubious glance, Anders opened the door – and once again, froze in place.

“This…Maker, this is…”

“Your bedroom. If you want it.”

“If I _want_ it?! I’d _kill_ to keep it. But how did you even managed to build this…I was only gone for a few hours. You must have completely worn yourself out, I don’t want you to do that for me, I…”

“I don’t believe _you_ are in a position to complain about that,” Fenris interrupted him, a soft smile playing about his lips. “And as I said, I didn’t do it all by myself. Varric sent a few people to put up your room, and Merrill and Isabela helped with the rest. Did you not see them outside?”

“No?”

“Ah.” Fenris grinned. “Well, good for them.”

For a moment, Anders looked utterly confused, but then his eyes narrowed. “Wait, Varric sent help? So _that’s_ why he kept ordering food for me and wouldn’t let me leave until he had finished the most longwinded story anyone has told since before the first Blight. He was in on this. I should have known something was up when Isabela didn’t come sliding into the room at the mention of free drinks.” The mage shook his head, crossed his arms in front of his chest and put on what Fenris assumed was supposed to be a stern expression. “And even if you didn’t have to do all the work, this still must have cost you a fortune. We talked about this, Fenris, I…”

“We did. And as far as I recall, we established that since I have far less expenses than you, I would use my coin to support your stomach and your clinic if I deemed it necessary. And you,” he added, his expression most likely also not as stern as he’d intended, given how little it seemed to impress Anders, “agreed to occasionally let me spoil you.”

“This isn’t just spoiling me a little. The bed alone must have cost…”

“If you wish, I can tell Varric to sell your old things. That would cover some of the costs. But I figured giving them to those in need would be more…just.”

Fenris doubted the words “you utter bastard” had ever been mumbled with such fondness. At his usual volume, Anders added, “I can’t believe you actually went there,” a slight curl of his lips betraying the scowl he was still trying hard to keep in place.

“I did, and I am quite comfortable there. Comfortable, and without remorse.” He reached for Anders hand, gently prying it away from his chest and interlacing their fingers. “And I hope we agree that providing a clean, friendly environment for the sick and destitute _and_ a place where their healer can get the rest and privacy a mortal needs is also _just_.” After a brief moment of hesitation, Anders nodded. “Good. And while we are on the topic of things that are just, welcoming your partner with a delicious feast the next time he visits you would be an excellent example.”

“Oh, trust me, I _will_ prepare a feast alright. Parts of it will even involve food.” The mage took a step closer to place a kiss on the tip of Fenris’ nose. “There’ll be a feast for you every single time you’re here, I’ll keep my shelves stocked with all your favourite things. And I don’t think I’ve said it before…Thank you. I can’t believe you did all that for me. No, actually, I _can_ , that’s the whole point.” He gave his hand a soft squeeze, almost as soft as his voice. “Thank you. I mean it.”

“There is no need to thank me. No boyfriend of mine will live in squalor.”

“Hmm, hmm… Do tell, just how many ‘boyfriends of yours’ are there, exactly?”

“Just the one. But he is a handful.” Fenris put an arm around Anders’ waist and leaned up for a playful bite to his ear. “And sometimes it seems like he’s of two minds.”

“That sounds like a lot to deal with…”

“I would not have it any other way. And now,” he said against the mage’s lips after having claimed them in a soft, unhurried kiss, “go explore your new things. I know you are itching to.”

Anders bounced off (although not before he’d pressed another kiss on Fenris’ lips). He walked around the room, picking up things, stroking his hands across the fabric of his new curtains and cushions, plopping into chairs and jumping back to his feet straight away, too eager to examine every little detail to take a moment to rest. Fenris couldn’t help but smile as he watched him squealing in delight at his new bedroom.

“A room _only_ for me. It even has a door…and all my things are here!”

“I brought them inside. I thought you might want them close. I…did not mean to intrude.”

“It’s just a dusty old chest and a few books and clothes, Fenris,” Anders said over his shoulder. “That’s hardly intruding. I mean, you didn’t read my journal, did you?”

“You…have a journal?”

“No, just wanted to see how you’d react.” The mage stuck his tongue out at him. Fenris was about to do the same in return, but it seemed Anders’ mind had already moved on to the next thing. With a loud sigh of utter satisfaction, he flopped down on his new bed. “Oh, this is a balm for my old creaking back. We’re going to have so much fun here…There’ll be rumours about the sewers swarming with noisy desire demons in no time.”

Fenris leaned against the wall across from him, looking down at the sprawled out mage with a smile. “I am glad you like your new room. But we still need to talk about our living arrangements.”

“I don’t see why. You like having your own place.”

“I do. Yet it has recently occurred to me that you never said _you_ did, too.”

Anders bit his lip, but didn’t say anything.

So Fenris spoke instead, fumbling his way through the words in an uncertain rush. “I thought… With all the time you spend in your clinic, you should have a home for yourself down here. You need a proper bed to rest, and…a place that is truly yours. Yet you should also have a key to the mansion, for you are always welcome there. _Always_. And I have been thinking…I might get a cat.” That caused Anders, who had up until then been staunchly staring at the ceiling to snap his head up at him, eyes the size of shields. Fenris gave him a small, slightly twitching smile before he continued. “Just to see why you like them so much. Of course, it will prefer you over me as you will pamper it ceaselessly. Which would also make it your cat…our cat. So you would have to visit…regularly. Stay most nights to make sure it doesn’t…miss you.”

Fervour. It was one of the many things Fenris loved about Anders, the thing that made him shine brighter than anyone else, burn with a fire that made the world around him fade to nothing. A certain look, the right word, was enough to set his face aflame with affection.

It was there now, as he leapt of the bed and pulled Fenris against his chest, throwing himself into their kiss with a passion Fenris knew he would never tire of.

“I take it you are not opposed,” he said when they finally parted, with as much of a grin as he could manage gasping for air.

“No, I’m all for it. Just one more thing,” Anders said, looking at him through his lashes. “Do I get to pick the cat?”

 

Of course he did. As if Fenris could have, or would have, denied him anything.

Well, he _had_ denied his plea to “go right now”, but the request had been half-hearted at best in the first place– his desire to explore the benefits of his newly improved home was at least as great. Once he realized they still had to “consecrate” the bed (“Remind me to use those exact words when I tell Sebastian about it”), the thought of choosing a furry companion, was pushed to the back of his mind.

Thus, Fenris finally got to spend his second night at the clinic, followed by a cosy, opulent breakfast (it was a good thing he had remembered to replenish Anders’ supplies). Eventually, their lazy morning was interrupted by the arrival of the day’s first patients. Fenris stayed to help Anders with his work and it took several hours, during which the mage got increasingly squirmy and restless, until they could finally leave for Lowtown. Never before had he seen Anders so eager to douse the lantern.

Merrill had given him the locations of several litters of kittens old enough to be taken away from their mothers. She needn’t have bothered; Anders picked one at the first place they went to. More specifically, Fenris had to gently persuade him to stick to just _one_. The mage kept insisting they had “room for all of them”.

“Let us start with one and see how it goes. We can always get more later.”

After some pouting and anxious indecision, Anders had finally settled on a rather temperamental tabby, which was now perched on the table in Fenris’ bedroom, staring at them in a way that was, quite frankly, unsettling. Well, he supposed he had to get used to it if the creature was going to share his home – a home that wasn’t quite so exclusively his anymore. He’d given Anders his key when they’d arrived so he could unlock the door himself. Which he’d somehow managed to do while still keeping the cat firmly pressed against his chest, beaming all over for now more than one reason.

His face still looked like someone had cast a grinning-spell on him, not that Fenris had seen much of it since they’d entered the mansion. Anders was too busy fussing over the cat, crouching on the floor with his chin on the table to put himself at its eye level.

“Have you thought of a name yet?” Fenris asked his uncomfortably-bent back.

That got him to at least turn around. “I get to pick the name too?”

“It is very generous of you to pretend I actually have a choice in the matter.”

Anders grinned. “I was trying to be polite.”

“Commendable, but pointless. I know you.”

“That you do,” Anders said. He gave him a fond smile…and turned his attention back to the cat. “Well, let’s see. She’s a fierce redhead who pins you down with an unwavering, judgemental stare…I shall name her: Ser A-feline. I think it sounds quite dashing.”

Fenris quirked an eyebrow. “That is not all it sounds like.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Vaguely, if at all, very vaguely. Complete coincidence, plausible deniability and all. Different enough so that she can’t do more than scowl at me. Not that she could ever scowl as perfectly as you, aren’t you the fiercest, yes you are.”

It took Fenris a second to realize the mage was talking to the cat.

“Bring up the term ‘fierce redhead’ and she will kill you anyway.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t kill me, would you, my sweet little tiger. You only kill Templars, isn’t that right?”

“Not _her_.”

“Oh right, _her_. Well, if that’s how it ends, so be it.” He turned his head to look at Fenris, a broad grin on his face. “Will you mourn me?”

“Perhaps.”

“Aww. And will you avenge me?”

“You do remember who we are talking about here?”

Anders’ solemn nod was completely at odds with this twitching mouth and crinkling eyes. “I retract the question.”

As he watched the mage coo more nonsense at the cat, his fingers buried deep in its fur, Fenris found himself thinking that yes, he would. He would avenge him…no, there would be no need for that, not ever, for he would _defend_ him. Against Aveline, against Templars, against demons and Darkspawn and Meredith herself. No one would lay a finger on him. Fenris would protect him. He would keep him safe, no matter the cost.

 

The thought was still at the back of his mind when they lay nestled against each other in bed hours later, the fire painting fleeting shadows on the walls and Anders’ hair soft beneath his fingers. Ser A-feline had curled up into a fluffy little ball in front of the fireplace, taking a well-deserved nap. Anders had insisted she needed to be thoroughly welcomed and petted and while it was obvious she had taken an instant liking to them mage (Good instincts, Fenris thought), she’d eventually had enough and sought refuge under the bed. It had taken quite some effort to convince Anders not to crawl after her and get him to play a few rounds of chess instead.

When the cat came into sight again, the mage’s relief had been palpable, yet aside from a brief brush of his knuckles against her head before they climbed into bed, he’d refrained from bothering the sleepy animal. He did, however, lift his head to check on her at regular intervals, smiling every time he saw she was still dozing peacefully. Fenris could hardly fault him for that; he often found himself doing the same when he woke up in the morning and realized Anders was still in his bed.

He wound a strand of the mage’s hair around his finger, not quite looking at him as he said, “If you wish you could…work on your manifesto here. I could set up a desk for you.”

“My…manifesto. Are you sure you wouldn’t mind?”

“It would make me happy, mage. And why should you be the only one perpetually covered in ink. Let the cat have her share too.”

A smile dashed across Anders’ face so quickly it was gone before it had fully formed. He snuggled closer against Fenris, brushing his nose against his ear.

“ _Mage_ …I love the way you say that now, with so much warmth, like it has turned into something…good. It makes me feel so cherished.”

“I am glad to hear that. I would not use it if it still hurt you.” Fenris smiled against Anders’ hair, a lazy half curl of his lips. “I have noticed you never call me by anything but my name.”

“You’re right, I'll have to think of something for you”

“Elf?” he joked.

“No, I’d say Varric’s got that covered.” A finger, tracing his jaw in a feathery, fleeting touch as Anders lifted his head to look at him. “It _is_ something that should make you feel cherished, _proud_ , because you are a wonderful, handsome, wise, funny, perfect elf. But I know how much you hate the way people use that word. And I hate them for making you feel like that.”

“They use mage the same way.”

“Yes,” Anders said, a hollow, pained sound. “Although not exactly. They think of mages as cursed…and of elves as worthless.” He swallowed, pressing his forehead against Fenris’. “My kind really are the worst.”

“Just to clarify, are you talking about humans or mages?” Fenris asked, softening the harsh words with a smirk.

“Ouch. But I'm glad you can still joke about it. And I'll think of something else to call you, something that’s just for us.”

“Are you telling me nothing comes to mind to describe me?” he teased, mapping the stubble on Anders’ cheeks with his tongue. “Nothing?”

“Well,” Anders said, a hint of colour rising to the raspy skin beneath Fenris’ lips, “the first thing that comes to mind is ‘love’, so that’s not an option.”

“Perhaps it is.”

“Fenris, we have our own words for that. I know how it makes you feel to hear…”

“No,” Fenris interrupted him, “it is not the same. It is not what I…remember.” _Pet._ “I prefer to use our words, but this is not the…phrase. And I do not mind _you_ saying it.”

“Are you sure?” The mage’s hand was in his hair, softly cradling his head. “Remember, Cat-ris and Fen-cat are also still on the table.”

“If anything, I am more certain now.” He pulled back a little to flash the mage smug grin. “Especially considering that you are already using it anyway.”

“What?”

“You say it all the time when we are,” he drew out the word, “…intimate.”

“Re…Really?” Anders stammered. “I wasn’t aware. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

While his embarrassment had been endearing (and truth be told, a tiny bit satisfying), the expression of guilt now taking over his face was not. Fenris reached out a hand to cup his cheek, placing his thumb on his lips to gently shush him. “I am not surprised. It is usually a sign you are entirely lost in pleasure, for which there is no need to apologise. I enjoy seeing you like that. And _hearing_ you like that.”

He could feel Anders smiling weakly against his thumb and pulled it away to let him speak. “Alright. I just…thought I had better self-control.”

“Anders, I _am_ grateful for how you always try to…accommodate me. Yet I do not wish for you to feel like you have to watch your every word. I am not made of glass. Do not repress yourself for my sake.”

“I’m not, I like our words. They’ve become more dear to me than…the other thing. But it’s good to know it won’t make you uncomfortable if I do slip up…”

“It doesn’t. In fact, there are certain times when I am very much in favour of your control…slipping.”

“Is that so? Might you perhaps be able to give me a few…examples?”

Fenris trailed his hand down the mage’ stomach. “If you are interested, I could provide a demonstration…”

“Fenris, not in front of the cat!” Anders whispered, wide-eyed.

“If that is your way of endearing me to her, it is not working.”

Despite his low chuckle, the mage still looked visibly conflicted.

Fenris raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you seriously trying to tell me your other…Pounce never saw you in compromising situations?”

“Well, ahem, at least not with…other people involved.”

“I see. Now, while we are on the topic of demonstrations…”

Anders ignored him. “But Pounce was a worldly, full-grown cat. Ser A-feline is young and impressionable.”

“Fine, I will lock her out of the room…”

“No! No, she’ll think we’re abandoning her. And she loves sleeping in front of the fire!”

“Very well then,” Fenris sighed, resolving to let the mage have his way in his first night with their new companion and settle this ridiculous matter first thing in the morning. Considering all the places Ser A-feline’s tongue had ventured during the few hours she’d been with them, he seriously doubted the creature would, or even _could_ , be upset by anything. “Let us go to sleep then.” He pressed a soft kiss on Anders’ forehead, “Goodnight, fool” and turned around, wrapping himself into the blanket.

“Goodnight, love.”

His face surrendered to a smile. He reached behind himself for Anders’ waist and pulled him against his back. “Sleep well, lovely mage.”

He had barely closed his eyes when Anders sneaked a hand beneath his tunic. “You know, now that I think about it, the door’s ajar. If we get too noisy, she’ll probably just leave. And if not…well, she’ll get a chance to practice that disapproving stare.”

“You lasted almost a full minute. Impressive.”

“Well, what can I say,” Anders breathed into his ear, one of his fingers slowly circling Fenris’ nipple, “I’m just too curious about that…demonstration you mentioned.”

“Before we get to that, I was hoping you could provide me with a clearer picture of exactly what kind of indecency your pour cat had to witness.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

In answer, he wiggled his ass against Anders’ groin.

“Well then…turn around.”

 

The cat was nowhere to be seen by the time Anders’ voice rasped through the night in a shout tinged with disbelief…which was quickly replaced with complete awe.

“Fenris…you…really? You…yes, _YES_ love, don’t stop, please…”

Fenris looked up at him from between his legs, a gleam in his eyes as they met Anders’ dazed stare. The mage let out a choking, breathless chuckle.

“Alright, alright, I see what you mean…I do get lost. And I’m glad I do…with you.” He ruffled a hand through Fenris’ hair, briefly cupping his cheek before he went back to gripping the headboard. “Please, don’t stop…”

Fenris had no intention of stopping. He was, in fact, just getting started.


End file.
